


AMOR VINCIT OMNIA (love conquers all)

by pixelated



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anarchy, Ancient Rome, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Badass Women, Blood, Coup d’etat, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gladiators, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Mutual Pining, No Damsels in Distress Here, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Smut, Violence, heroic men, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22931872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelated/pseuds/pixelated
Summary: Remus, a servant boy to the cruel Emperor Voldemort, meets Sirius, a charming nobleman. Together they fight for freedom and love in Ancient Rome.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 160
Kudos: 310
Collections: Remus Lupin Fest 2020





	1. I / REMUS

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 165: ancient rome!au. sirius is nobility and sneaks out one day, he comes across a beautiful boy.
> 
> (So I tweaked the prompt quite a bit, but I’m really pleased with the final work! I hope you all enjoy it! Comments fuel me to write more stories like this, so please keyboard smash at me ❤️)
> 
> (Also: Please heed the tags! Nothing bad happens between our main characters, but I have TWs at the beginnings of each chapter, just in case.)

As the golden-yellow sun rises over the tiled temple rooftops in the morning and begins to bathe Rome in its soft, warm light, Remus tilts his face up toward the sky with his hands clasped behind his straightened back while he trails behind his escort along the winding pebbled road beside the river.

The water looks extra clear today, and briefly he wonders if his escort will allow him to stop for a swim on their way back to the villa. He will have to be on his best behavior for certain. For now, he follows the fragrant aroma of spices and freshly baked pastries into the forum at the heart of the city.

It is still quite early, but the forum is already beginning to buzz with the activity of vendors setting up their tented pop-up stalls while others carefully arrange their goods and wares on tables for the daily market. Here, there is a little bit of everything being sold— vibrant bolts of luxurious silk billowing in the breeze; pretty beads, gemstones, and gold glistening in the sunlight; hens clucking in their cages. Remus takes all of this in, watching the merchants beckon shoppers to their booths with enthusiastic sales pitches, the group of women trying on bracelets, a young servant selecting a cut of lamb from a butcher before slipping it into his basket— all of it having its own part in the hustle and bustle of everyday Roman life.

Coming to the marketplace in the mornings is one of the few little indulgences Remus is permitted as a servant, never mind that he must be accompanied on every trip by his master’s slimy councilor, Severus— a man whose sour personality is blatantly reflected on his sallow, hook-nosed face. Nevertheless, Remus attempts to make the best of this time by steadfastly ignoring Severus and pretending as if he is not there breathing down his neck while he samples perfumes and admires the sparkling jewelry.

Remus purchases an apple for a snack with his meagre allowance and stumbles upon a merchant selling instruments. He stops to admire these for a moment, and with a quick glance over his shoulder, realizes he has managed to lose Severus in the crowd. He turns, anxious of whatever punishment may await him if he strays too far away from his escort, but the crowd is thick and he is unable to spot him.

Across the courtyard, there is a sudden uproar of men hollering at one another. Remus peers through the gathering crowd but can only make out the figures of two dark-haired men shoving one another. One of them lands a punch on the other, eliciting simultaneous gasps from several onlookers, then the crowd surges forward. Someone jostles against Remus, causing him to fall to his hands and knees and drop the apple. He can only watch with a frown as it is kicked away and rolls across the dirty ground, then quickly becomes scooped up by a goat’s hungry mouth— though he is less concerned about the wasted money and more worried about the lashing he may get for returning to the villa with scraped knees and a soiled tunic— it will not reflect favorably on his master.

A man cuts through the crowd and kneels beside him there in the square, one hand outstretched as people continue past him toward the ongoing altercation, and Remus, with his wide eyes tilted upward to study the man’s seemingly kind enough face, warily accepts the help. He slips his hand into the man’s much larger one and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Thank you, sir,” Remus says, dipping his head in gratitude, feeling quite warm under the gaze of his rescuer. He is a tall, towering man, and rather strikingly handsome with his long, dark hair half pulled back and framing a refined face that still looks a bit rugged due to his unshaven chin. He is dressed in a finely styled toga and red sandals, obviously an aristocrat, and Remus feels a bit at odds standing beside him. In fact, he should not even be talking to this man at all. “Apologies for my clumsiness.”

“There is no need to apologize,” the man urges, and gives Remus’s shoulder an amiable squeeze. “Are you all right?”

Brushing off his tunic, Remus nods. “Yes, fine. I only lost my food. And my escort, I am afraid.”

The man purses his lips and looks to the fruit cart, then leads Remus along with a firm yet gentle hand on the small of his back. He plucks up another apple from the display, then turns and offers it to him with a friendly smile.

“I cannot pay for it, sir,” Remus says and shakes his head, but the man only fishes a coin out of his purse and flips it to the merchant with a flick of his thumb, then ushers Remus back out of the crowd with his hand resting again on the small of his back like a large, hot brand.

“Consider it a gift,” the man replies, shrugging one shoulder. “A thank you.”

“A thank you for what, sir?”

“For gracing me with your beauty today.” He says it so simply and so calmly, as if it is common knowledge, that Remus cannot help but blush furiously. He is not used to these kinds of commendations from important men. Despite his master lavishing him with praise, he lacks the gentleness and warmth, not to mention the good looks of this stranger.

“Thank you again. You are too kind.”

“Your knees.”

“Pardon?”

“You are bleeding. Here.” He leads Remus to the fountain at the center of the marketplace and with a gentle push, has him sit upon the edge. Remus glances around cautiously while clutching his apple, unsure if he should make a run for it or accept the help, but the man drops to one knee before him and touches the side of Remus’s leg tenderly.

Remus flinches at the unfamiliar graze of the man’s rough fingertips on his skin, and he watches him warily as he works a thread of his own toga open and rips two long strips of fabric off with his bare hands. Carefully, he dips the cloth into the fountain’s water and wipes the dirt and rocks from Remus’s knees, cleans the specks of blood from his shins, then wraps each strip around the wounds and ties them securely with a knot.

“That will have to do for now,” he says, looking rather satisfied with his handiwork. “What is your name?”

“Remus, sir.”

“I noticed you admiring the instruments. Are you skilled with any?”

“Yes, sir. I sing and play the lyre.”

“And how old are you, Remus?”

“Seven and ten years,” Remus responds.

“Seventeen and not a hair on your chin yet.” The stranger moves his hand to tug at the edge of Remus’s tunic, his thumb sliding delicately over the embroidered border. It’s a subtle detail, something that would normally go unnoticed unless one looked closely, but the understated elegance of it surely tells this man that Remus belongs to someone with enough money and power to not only have his own servant, but to dress him well.

“And nor will there ever be, sir,” Remus says, keeping his head down and feeling guilty for not taking more pride in his position. He is lucky, really— most boys his age do not have half of the luxuries he has been afforded. He has a roof over his head, fine clothing, a warm bed, hot meals. He knows he should be grateful; he is certainly privileged, regardless of whether or not this is the life he would have chosen for himself, if he was ever to be given a choice, nor is it the life his mother would have wanted for him before her passing. “My master plans to keep me soft. So that my voice will not deepen further and for… aesthetic purposes.”

The man is silent for a moment. There is no misjudging what Remus has said— it is not an uncommon practice, and it is the undeniable truth of his position in his master’s home. Without that protection, he would be an orphan on the streets. 

“When?”

“After my birthday next. In Spring.”

“And to whom do you belong?”

“I—”

“ _Remus!_ There you are!”

Remus snaps his head up to see Severus rushing toward him through the crowd. One of his normally beady dark eyes is purple and swollen shut, and Remus guesses he was one of the men involved in the altercation across the courtyard.

“What happened to you?”

“Never mind what happened to me, what is going on here?” He looks to the stranger with an annoyed huff. “ _You._ Why am I not surprised?”

“It seems I have found your ward, Severus,” the man says, smirking. “Do not tell me this boy is yours.”

“This boy belongs to Emperor Voldemort.”

The man seems taken aback for a moment, with his jaw slack and his eyebrows raised, but he promptly schools his features after seeing Severus’s cruel smirk.

“Pity. I was just thinking I would like to buy him.”

The man’s words cause Remus to jolt upright, and he casts his eyes to look over at him again, admiring the haughty smile on his lips. The idea of leaving the care of the emperor and working for this handsome stranger is enticing. He certainly does not seem the type to be overtly callous to his servants as Voldemort is. Perhaps he would even be kind? Tender? Affectionate? Would he also want to take Remus as a lover? The very thought of it makes him blush.

“You will have to take that up with my master, then. Make an appointment. Now, I encourage you to go collect James from the guards,” Severus says, straightening his toga. “He has been arrested for assaulting the emperor’s councilor. Pay them a fair bribe and you can have your idiotic friend back.”

Remus watches as the stranger releases what sounds like an irritated yet amused sigh. He stands and turns to face him, and with a slight bow he takes Remus’s right hand, his thumb lightly brushing over the knuckles. “A pleasure to meet you today, Remus. Good day. And have your nurse look over those scrapes, would you?”

“Of course. Thank you again, sir.”

“Please,” he says, waving a hand in the air. “You may call me Sirius.” He then turns to Severus and plasters another cocky smile onto his face. “I would bid you a good day as well, Severus, but to be quite honest, I absolutely loathe you and would rather see you floating facedown in the Tiber.”

Remus knows better than to laugh at the quip or at Severus’s ever reddening face, but it is in that instant Remus immediately adores this man. _Sirius,_ he repeats in his head while he watches the man turn on his heel and walk confidently across the forum, completely ignoring Severus’s inane babblings as he takes Remus’s wrist and yanks him to his feet. _Sirius, Sirius, Sirius._

Biting into the crisp, pink apple, Remus follows Severus through the crowd and out of the marketplace. He glances over his shoulder for one more gander, only to find that Sirius is looking back at him. He raises a hand in a parting gesture, and with a contented grin, Remus waves back at him.


	2. II / SIRIUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied pederasty

In the triclinium of his palatial villa, Sirius reclines on his side among the sofa’s soft cushions across from his brother, Regulus, and their closest friend, James, one leg bent at the knee as his servants load the table with lunch for the three of them and pour wine and water into goblets. They feast on figs and fish and grapes and bread, filling their stomachs with the finely prepared foods over their raucous afternoon laughter as James retells the story of his landing a punch on Severus the previous morning.

“He actually had the audacity to walk right up to my Lily,” James says, waving one hand as he speaks as if he is giving a powerful sermon, “and says that it would  _ behoove _ her to marry someone of his position. As if she would choose his hideous face over mine!”

“Over…  _ your _ hideous face?” Sirius says, pointing out James’s strange wording.

“Ass. You know well enough what I mean.”

“Do we? To be fair, she has not chosen you either,” Regulus jests, causing James to sputter and Sirius to laugh out loud again. James plucks a grape from the bunch at the table’s center and chucks it at the boy.

Sirius watches them banter fondly. While Sirius had to step up and raise Regulus himself as if he were his son rather than his brother, James has taken Regulus under his wing and treats him as if they are brothers, teaching him to spar and woo women when Sirius is busy attending to more mundane things. Despite their parents dying suddenly and having treated both boys rather unjustly when they were alive, Regulus has been growing into a well-adjusted young man— he is just as intelligent and handsome as his older brother, and will have a bright future ahead of him no matter his chosen profession.

As the three of them are finishing their meal with another round of wine, Sirius’s messenger rushes in from the atrium with a scroll tucked under his arm and looking rather flustered as he interrupts their meal with a polite bow.

“My apologies, sirs,” Peter says, dipping his head before turning to address Sirius. “You have received a summons from Emperor Voldemort.”

Sirius sits up, raising his eyebrows. He should not be surprised, really— he was half-expecting something like this to happen. He had planned on quietly taking it upon himself to visit the emperor’s home on his own time, perhaps under the guise of calling on Bellatrix, his cousin and the wife of Voldemort.

“Thank you, Peter,” Sirius says and takes the scroll from the chubby little man, then dismisses him with a flick of his wrist. “You may go.”

Peter bows again and scurries out of the room while Regulus and James watch Sirius unroll the papyrus. 

“What has happened?” James asks at the same time as Regulus’s annoyed, “What did you do now?”

“I was caught consorting with the emperor’s catamite,” Sirius announces with a proud smile as his eyes flit over the writing. “I have also been accused of property damage.”

“You did what?!” James exclaims, his mouth dropping open in shock.

“Oh, Sirius.” Regulus shakes his head solemnly. “Voldemort could have your head for this, you know.”

“Relax, the both of you,” Sirius says, rolling the letter back up. “The boy fell down at the market. I merely attended to his wounds. It is Severus who should have been looking after him. I should be rewarded, if anything.”

“I would not hold my breath, brother.”

“We shall see!” Sirius slaps the scroll down onto the table once before slipping it under his arm and rising to his feet. “For now, I bid you vale!”

Two leather armored guards just outside the iron gates of the emperor’s palace stop Sirius as he arrives on horseback. Sirius takes the letter from his satchel and presents it to the guards as proof of his summons. Appeased, the guards move aside to work the gate’s ropes and pulleys on either side of the pathway. They then wave him through, directing him to leave his horse with the servant attending the stables.

As Sirius dismounts, he strokes the mane of his speckled grey mare Minerva lovingly before handing her over to Rodolphus. He then makes his way up the winding path to the palace, taking the steps of the opulent home two at a time before he’s faced with yet another servant cum guard who leads him through the vestibule, the atrium, and to the doors of Voldemort’s personal tablinum. With a deep bow, the servant announces Sirius’s arrival, and after a moment, ushers him inside the lavishly decorated room.

Emperor Voldemort sits behind his desk, his fingers steepled in front of him as Sirius enters the room and bows.

He is awfully difficult to look at straight on. He used to be handsome, Sirius recalls, but now his face is horribly disfigured from battle— his pallid countenance is riddled with scars that have settled upon him like a much older man’s wrinkles, and in the center of his face he wears an off-colored prosthetic nose, beneath which is nothing but a hideous bright pink slash of a scar and a bit of a stump of bone. His skin is shiny and waxy, likely from the creams and salves he applies to his face, and he smells of anise and olives— a nauseating combination.

“My Lord,” Sirius says, averting his eyes. “You wished to speak with me?”

Voldemort gestures for him to take the seat across from him and leans back in his chair. “I will cut right to the chase, Sirius. I am not happy. My councilor tells me you assaulted my servant in the marketplace yesterday morning. Care to explain yourself?”

Sirius scoffs, rolling his eyes as he sits. “With all due respect, Severus is not being honest with you, sir. He has had a personal vendetta against me since childhood. Severus left your servant behind to start an altercation with another man, causing the crowd to become unruly. Someone knocked the boy to the ground. I helped him up and tended to his wounds. Admittedly, I may have gotten too comfortable with him, but in all honesty I did not know he belonged to you, sir, as he was unescorted at the time.”

Resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, Voldemort scratches his scarred chin. “You are suggesting I should punish Severus then?”

“No, sir,” Sirius says, treading cautiously. “I would never presume that you do not know how to handle your own servants. I am sure you will respond as you see fit.”

“Good answer. Very well then.” Voldemort begins to dismiss him, but Sirius bows to him again.

“Forgive me, sir, but if I may make a proposal?”

“Go on.”

“I would like to purchase the boy.”

“Which boy? The catamite?”

“Yes, my Lord. Remus, I believe his name is. I am willing to pay a fair price for him.”

“Why?”

“Well, he mentioned he is skilled with his voice and the lyre and I have been looking for someone to bring some livelihood into my villa. I quite enjoy music, you see.”

“You want to buy him without having heard him?”

“If he is in your possession, surely he must be of the highest skill. I am, of course, willing to hear him first if that is your preference.”

Voldemort raises his hand, signaling to the servant outside his door. “Rabastan, fetch Remus for me. And have him bring his lyre.”

Sirius turns his head to watch Rabastan nod and hurry off, leaving them both in silence.

“I have great respect for your family, Sirius,” the emperor states suddenly, causing Sirius to turn back to him. “And you. The son of a Senator, a fine soldier in your youth, and now raising your brother as if he is your own son.”

“Thank you sir. He is the most important thing in my life. I try to do right by him.”

“How old is Regulus now?”

“Fifteen, sir.”

The emperor scratches his chin in thought and before either of them can say anything further on the subject, Rabastan leads the servant boy into the room.

Remus is obviously taken aback by Sirius’s presence. He stops short, cradling his gilded lyre in his arms, his bright hazel eyes flickering from Sirius to his master and back again. Sirius gives him what he hopes is a comforting smile as Voldemort instructs him to take a seat upon the stool against the wall and play a little something for the two of them.

The boy takes the offered seat and rests the lyre on top of his freshly bandaged knee, the creamy white skin of the inside of his slender thigh catching Sirius’s eye as he settles his sandaled foot upon a high wooden rung.

As soon as he had laid eyes upon the boy in the market, Sirius had felt inexplicably drawn to him. It had been evident to Sirius that Remus was unhappy with his position with his master, and Sirius can see that reflected on his face now. His demure attitude is somehow an obvious façade over his true self, and Sirius would very much like to crack him open and get to know the young man underneath.

He watches rapt as Remus’s nimble fingers pluck at the strings seemingly haphazardly yet with precision, and an elegant stream of song begins to pour from his lips.

_ I wander the gardens in the sun’s warm light _

_ Hoping to catch my true love’s sight _

_ My fingertips dance over violet blooms _

_ While I breathe in their sweet perfumes _

_ He stands strong and tall as a cypress tree _

_ Jupiter, I pray, bring his love to me _

_ Fates, please steer him toward my heart _

_ And Venus, promise we will never part  _

His singing voice is a lovely lilted counter-tenor which bleeds against the sound of the instrument, both humming together in perfect harmony like sweet honey. As Remus ends his ballad with another strum of the lyre, the emperor rises from his chair to move closer to him, his deep purple toga dusting the tiled floor as he walks. 

“He is quite skilled, is he not,” Voldemort states rather than he asks, his hand skittering across the broad spread of Remus’s shoulder blades. “Pretty, too.” He squeezes Remus’s arm, and Sirius can sense the disgust there, can read it in Remus’s body language— in his tense, squared shoulders, in the way he presses his lips together and his knuckles whiten around the curve of the lyre. Sirius hopes the emperor has not yet taken the boy to bed, but he cannot bring himself to think too long on it. It leaves his mouth dry and his stomach uneasy.

“Very talented, indeed,” Sirius responds, shaking the unsavory image from his mind. “And I would still very much like to purchase him.”

He would rather not speak of Remus as if he is not in the room or as if he is an insentient object rather than a person, but Remus does look at him with wide, hopeful eyes like he wants Sirius to take him out of here. He holds his instrument close to his chest, and Sirius would like to pry his fingers off of the thing and kiss each and every one of them. If only the boy knew.

Voldemort sighs. “I do not know, Sirius. I have plans for this one. I might be willing to make a fair deal, however.”

“Name your price. No sum is too large,” Sirius insists, glancing at Remus again. A faint pink blush sits high on the apples of the boy’s cheeks as he turns his eyes downward to stare at his feet.

“Your brother then,” Voldemort says sharply. “He is a bit younger and prettier than this one. It would be a beneficial trade for the both of us, I believe. I would be taking him off of your hands.”

“Are you mad?!” Sirius is flabbergasted and offended by the suggestion, the mere thought of this revolting man touching his baby brother causes bile to rise up in his throat, but he quickly checks himself as the emperor scowls at the insult. “Apologies, my lord. I only mean. Well. I would be happy to give you anything else, but Regulus is off of the table.”

With a quick snap of the emperor’s fingers, Remus looks up at his master and Voldemort shoos him out of the tablinum. Remus leaps to his feet with his lyre in hand, gives a deep bow to each of them, then hurries out of the room.

“Bellatrix warned me about inviting you here,” Voldemort says, leaning against the edge of his desk in front of Sirius. He crosses his arms and frowns. “She said you do not know your place. You believe yourself to be above the law because of who your father was and how wealthy he left you, but hear me now, boy. If you ever speak to me that way again, let alone in front of one of my servants, I will have you publicly lashed and left to die.”

Sirius swallows the lump in his throat and nods. He would surely die for his brother, no questions asked, but his death would be for nothing at all if Voldemort took Regulus afterward anyway. “Forgive me, my Lord. I spoke with too much emotion. However, my offer for the boy still stands— name your sum.”

“I have no use for money,” the emperor scoffs.

“The whole lot of my servants then. Or myself. I will re-join your army.”

Voldemort narrows his eyes and Sirius holds his breath while waiting for an answer. He has shown his hand too soon. He never was as great at negotiating as his father did on the Senate floor— that is something Regulus came by naturally.

“I will think about it,” Voldemort says finally. “You are dismissed.” He steps back around to the opposite side of the desk and takes his seat, gesturing for Sirius to show himself out, and with another deep bow, Sirius turns to leave.

He is walking back through the atrium when someone steps out from behind a marble column, blocking his path. Sirius jumps backward defensively, placing his right hand on the hilt of his blade before assessing the assailant, then breathes a sigh of relief.

“Remus,” he says with a laugh, lowering his guard.

“Why do you want to buy me?” Remus questions accusingly, his eyebrows furrowed in defiance. “What did I ever do to you?”

“What do you mean? I only want to help you.”

Remus glances over his shoulder, then takes Sirius by the crook of his arm and drags him into an adjacent room. It is well-furnished with pretty golden trinkets and plush bedding, but not quite lavish enough to belong to either Voldemort or Bellatrix. He spots the gilded lyre lying on the bed, and Sirius concludes to himself that this must be Remus’s private chamber. He is kept rather comfortably in this house, after all. 

“The emperor will never agree to a deal with you,” Remus says matter-of-factly. “He will lead you on, find your weaknesses, then use those weaknesses to double-cross you and take whatever he wants, all the while making my life more miserable.”

Sirius snorts as he looks about the room. “It seems as if you have it pretty well here.”

“But at what cost?” Remus snaps. “You know as well as I do what he wants me for.”

“Are you opposed to having a man?”

Remus turns his eyes away from Sirius, glancing toward the single open shuttered window as another furious blush springs upon his face. “No. I am opposed to  _ him.  _ He is cruel, you know. The things he does. The things he wants to do to me—”

“I will not let him make a eunuch of you.”

“You do not have a choice in this! He will do as he pleases. And now he knows that you want me, which means things are going to start moving quickly around here.”

“I will not give you up without a fight, Remus,” Sirius says and reaches out to take his hand.

“Why do you want me?” Remus asks, shaking his head as he looks to their joined hands. “Surely there are other boys—”

“Perhaps. But this is what I am choosing to put my energy toward. Can I not do a good deed?”

“You do not even know me.”

Sirius squeezes his hand in reassurance. “But I want to. I would very much like to have the chance to know you. I believe there is more to you than meets the eye, regardless of how lovely you appear. I know there is something else inside of you. I can see it in your eyes. There is a fire.”

“And what if I do not want you either?” Remus argues, snatching his hand away and holding it to his chest protectively. “Will you have me anyway? What good is it for me moving from this house and into another where I will only be treated the same?”

“Why do you believe I would treat you as he does?”

“I do not know,” he admits. “Why would you not? I am only a servant. You powerful men… you can do whatever you want with no repercussions.”

“And I want to buy your freedom.”

Remus pauses for a moment, looking up at Sirius as if he has just said something absurd. “You would do that?”

“I have never understood how a man could bring himself to lie with another person, either man or woman, slave or not, if that person did not want to be there as well,” Sirius says, hoping Remus understands his implication. “I have no desire to hurt you or do anything against your will. I am not that kind of man. If you do not want to come home with me, I will back off and leave you be, but I would be happy to sign away your servitude and make you a freedman. Just say the word. I am giving you the power here. Do with it what you will.”

Sirius turns to leave but before he can exit the room, Remus takes ahold of his wrist.

“Wait,” he says, and Sirius turns back around to face him. “Sir.”

“I have already asked you, please, call me Sirius.”

“Sirius. When can I see you again?”


	3. III / REMUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: broken bone

Remus wakes the following morning as soon as the sun rises, eager to get to the market before his lessons. Normally, he would move leisurely, taking his time to dress and enjoy breakfast before pestering Severus to go out for their walk. Today though, he knows there will be a chance to see Sirius, and if he can sneak away from Severus for a moment, maybe even the opportunity to speak with him.

He throws a clean tunic over his head, ties a belt around his waist, straps his sandals onto his feet, and rushes out of the room so quickly that he nearly bumps headfirst into Severus in the atrium.

“Watch where you are going,” Severus drawls. “What are you in such a hurry for, anyway?”

“I was thinking we could go to the forum early today,” Remus says innocently. “The weather has been so nice lately.”

Severus scoffs. “The forum? You foolish boy. You think I do not know what this is regarding? I heard about your little friend coming here and insulting the emperor.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Remus says. “Sirius only—”

“Already on a first name basis with that scoundrel, are we? How very romantic.”

Remus flushes, turning his eyes away from Severus’s judgmental sneer. He is unsure what to say here— one wrong word and Severus could very well refuse to accompany him to the market, and then he would be left waiting even longer to catch a glimpse of Sirius.

“Apologies, Severus, I did not mean to insinuate anything,” he says, looking back up at the councilor. “It is only— I very much enjoy the market and I heard that the lady Lily will be there, and I thought, perhaps you would like to spend more time there this morning as well.”

Severus glares at him down the length of his long nose, but Remus does not back down. He pulls his most convincing face of innocence, clasping his hands behind his back politely as he waits for Severus to respond.

“Very well,” Severus concedes finally with a roll of his beady eyes, the left one still rather bruised. “If you are ready, let us be on our way.”

They make it to the market in good time— instead of ambling along lazily and admiring the scenery as usual, Remus had hurried to keep up with Severus’s long, sweeping stride. As soon as they enter the forum, Remus’s eyes are already darting this way and that in an attempt to locate Sirius, but Severus spots Lily’s bright orange hair immediately and leads Remus to her table.

“My lady,” Severus croaks out, sounding like a prepubescent toad. Remus sniggers quietly behind his hand and Severus whips his head to glare daggers at him.

Lily lifts her sun-freckled face to greet them both and something flickers behind her green eyes, something like exhaustion or exasperation or both when she realizes who is standing before her. “Oh… greetings, Severus. Does your master require more of that scar oil before our appointment?” She tilts her head back down to avoid Severus’s lecherous stare, her fingers dancing over the rows of pretty jars of colorful liquids and creams before plucking one up and holding it out to Severus. “Rose hip, was it?”

As Severus begins to ramble on about courting her, Remus seizes the opportunity to have another look about the marketplace. It is relatively early and not so crowded yet, so if Sirius were here he would be easy to spot. With a groan, Remus walks to one of the carts to purchase a piece of fruit, and just as his fingertips graze the velvety soft skin of a ripe peach, there is a hand around his wrist.

“Remus.”

By now, he has committed that voice to his memory, and with a delightful swoop in the pit of his belly, he looks up to the man staring down at him from across the table, and releases a lungful of air with a relieved sigh.

“Sirius.”

A handsome smile spreads across Sirius’s face and Remus cannot help but return it. He is rapturously giddy, forgetting for a moment who he is and where they are, but quickly remembers to glance over his shoulder. Severus is still, thankfully, distracted by the fair Lily, too far gone in his attempts to woo her to pay any mind to Remus or the way Sirius’s fingers are sliding up the length of his arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“We have not got much time,” Sirius says, then pulls his hand off of Remus, abandoning his fingers to hover over the fruit alone. Remus’s smile falters, but he watches as Sirius retrieves a folded up bit of papyrus from the coin purse hung at his waist. “Here.” He reaches to pass it to Remus and clamps both hands around his fist, discreetly slipping the note into his palm. 

“What is it?”

“Just a letter. Do not read it until you are alone. And destroy it afterward.”

Remus nods, and Sirius’s hands leave him once more before the older man steps away from the fruit table and disappears into the crowd. Quickly, Remus tucks the note behind his belt and with another sigh, he turns to redeliver himself to Severus’s side.

Once secretly hidden away behind the closed door of his private chamber, he unfolds the note and smooths it down with his hands upon the bed, kneeling on the floor to read it in the beam of sunlight that floods through his only window.

_ Remus— _

_ I wish we could have more time to speak. I am sorry for that. There are many things I wish to say, but hopefully this brief letter will suffice. _

_ I am not sure exactly what it is about you that makes me want to give up everything I have to simply be close to you. I hardly know you. Admittedly, I was initially drawn to your looks and immediately wanted you for my own, and after hearing you belonged to the emperor I was filled with jealousy and contempt. How could it be that a man so cruel and foul is allowed to hold such beauty in his hands? The thought of him touching you… I cannot bear it. _

_ Thank you for playing for me, by the way. You are talented far beyond your years. After having heard your singing and your lyre, I am convinced you are coming for my heart.  _

_ Forgive me for being so forward. I do not want to scare you off, but I think you might long for me as well. Do you? If I am wrong, tell me so. I will not bother you anymore and I will take no offense. _

_ Please, write me back? Until I am able to speak with the emperor again and beg him once more for your purchase, this is all we can have.  _

_ Adoringly— _

_ Sirius _

_ P.S. You can trust the lady Lily— she is a friend of mine. _

Remus’s heart beats wildly beneath his rib cage as he re-reads the letter two, three, four times, his stomach fluttering as if full of butterflies. He smiles, holding the letter against his chest as he lets his head fall down to rest on the edge of the bed and live in the moment for a minute.

He takes several deep, steadying breaths before lifting his head and folding the paper back up, then stashes it beneath his mattress— he remembers Sirius’s warning, but he cannot bring himself to destroy this one good thing he has to cling onto.

Wanting to write back immediately, he leaves the confines of his room to discreetly slip into Voldemort’s tablinum and pilfer a pen, a vial of black ink, and a blank bit of papyrus. He slips them all behind his belt and when the coast is clear for him to dash to his room, he sneaks back inside, reveals the stolen items, and begins to pen his response to Sirius.

_ Sirius— _

_ Thank you for your letter. I keep reading it over and smiling. You are far too kind and gentlemanly. I am nothing but a poor servant, and do not deserve the attention you have bestowed upon me, but I will happily receive it. _

_ As far as the emperor goes— I loathe him. If I had a choice, I would not be here nor would I ever let him touch me. Take solace in knowing he has not yet, however I fear my time is running thin. He is not a man known for his patience. _

_ Can I say that I would much prefer to let you have me? Is that too bold?  _

_ Cupid has already come for my heart— I swoon at the mere mention of your name. _

_ Yours— _

_ Remus _

Satisfied with his letter, he folds the papyrus and hides it— along with the pen and ink— beneath the mattress to bring along to the market in the morning.

The weeks go by with much of the same— clandestine letters and covert touches in the marketplace while remaining vigilant of any eyes that may be watching them too closely. The last time Remus saw him, Sirius had dangerously let himself linger, had thumbed Remus’s bottom lip as if they were lovers, had cradled the angle of his jaw in his hand and touched his mouth with such adoration that Remus could have fainted there in the forum, dizzy with lust and the instinct to lick that finger. It is somehow both too much and not enough, and Sirius leaves him flustered and aroused after slipping a note behind his belt. Remus had rushed home after that, always eager to read Sirius’s pretty words of praise.

_ Remus— _

_ I dreamt of your sweet face last night— of your fiery eyes, the slope of your nose, the bow of your pink lips. You laughed at a joke I made and the sound was as sweet as the music from your lyre, and I thought to myself I would do anything to hold you. I would fight for you; kill for you; burn down the entire empire for you. _

_ Your beauty and grace rival that of the gods and goddesses, and if I could, I would build a temple in your honor to worship only you. All of Rome would thank me for it. _

_ I long to be alone with you properly, so that I might put my mouth to your ear and whisper all of these truths to you, and so that I might kiss you and revel in the untouched skin beneath your tunic. I crave you as I have never craved another, and I feel as if I am losing grip of who I am; of who I am supposed to be. My work suffers. I cannot sleep. My thoughts are only of you and of your safety. How can I rest peacefully knowing you are under his roof? _

_ Oh, how I long to steal you away from there. _

_ With devotion— _

_ Sirius _

He had read that over and over, had palmed himself through the folds of his underwear while lying on his bed, had spilled into his own hand and wiped the evidence on his woolen blanket, immediately feeling guilt and shame knowing that some poor servant would see his mess and have to scrub out the stain.

It is a funny thing, he thinks to himself now, how he had been so sure his future had all been laid out plainly before him with no other option than to keep his head down and go along with it and make the best out of a terribly unfortunate situation. But now that this charming patrician has entered his life, his world has been shaken and turned upside down. Remus longs for a freedom he has never let himself dream of before, the edge of it just within his grasp, with the deep-rooted desire to love and be loved wedging itself between his bones like an ache that will not cease.

These dreams have begun to bleed into Remus’s days. They interrupt his daily routine while he tries to help with cooking meals or cleaning the palace and his lessons are uncommonly sloppy, frustrating his tutors even further than his sarcastic mouth usually does. His attention is elsewhere, his laziness affecting everyone around him, and it is rather apparent, especially to the women who work in the kitchen, that the boy is simply lovesick. 

Thoughts of Sirius flood his mind— Sirius’s face, the scruff of his strong chin, his commanding voice, the way he says Remus’s name so sweetly, his lovely dark hair, his palms calloused from gripping the hilt of his blade, the way he has taken to tucking his letters behind Remus’s belt himself, his fingers lingering there against Remus’s torso while the warmth seeps through the fabric of his tunic. Remus imagines there being no fabric at all between the two of them, only whispered words, flesh against flesh, and the freedom for them to both do as they please.

It is during one of these fantastical daydreams while he is lying on his back in the grassy garden, lyre on his chest as he soaks up the sun, that a sudden shadow falls over him. Remus opens his eyes, squinting against the harsh light with a hand at his brow, only to find the empress Bellatrix staring down at him.

“It is one thing for my husband to need a boy whore,” she spits out, curling her red-painted lips into a snarl, “but it is another completely for that whore to be a little thief.”

“Wh… what?”

_ “Wh… what?” _ she mocks in a terrible high-pitched impression of Remus’s voice. “On your feet, you disrespectful maggot.”

Remus scrambles to stand, his lyre abandoned there in the grass as Bellatrix seizes him by his thin arm and drags him back into the palace. 

Once inside the emperor’s tablinum, she forces Remus down with her hands on his shoulders to kneel before Voldemort’s desk, and both he and the emperor watch as she drops the stolen pen and ink onto it, followed by, presumably, every last one of Sirius’s letters.

Emperor Voldemort eyes him warily from the other side of his desk, a tight frown stretching across his mangled face. “Not only did you steal from me,” he says, “but you’re also sneaking around?” Remus tears his eyes away from his master to stare down at his hands flat against the marble floor, but Voldemort rises from his chair, slamming his fists upon the table. “Look at me boy!” he hollers, causing Remus to immediately snap his head back up. “After everything I have given you! You live in luxury here!”

Voldemort makes an annoyed gesture to Bellatrix and she nods before stepping over to the fireplace. She pulls a box of matches from her bodice, lights a fire with a quick flick of her wrist, then hurries out of the room.

“Obviously, you will not be going to the market anymore,” Voldemort says to him as he steps around the desk to stand in front of Remus. Remus simply kneels there, trembling in fear as wetness springs to his eyes. “You are to be confined to your room unless I summon you.”

Bellatrix re-enters the room with a large, looming man whom Remus recognizes as the emperor’s personal guard and champion gladiator Fenrir. He is an ugly, beast-like, brute of a man, and Remus has seen the damage he has done to disloyal servants and citizens with his own eyes, breaking fingers and severing hands— not to mention the carnage he leaves in his wake at the colosseum.

“And these?” Voldemort picks up a handful of the letters from the table, then makes his way to the fireplace. “Say goodbye.” 

Remus can only watch with a shuddering sob as Voldemort tosses the letters into the fireplace. The papyrus catches alight and Sirius’s loving words go up in flames, taking them away from Remus as swiftly as they had come.

“I will make certain that Sirius is punished as well,” Voldemort says, and Remus cannot hold his emotions back any longer— he lunges forward to cling to the emperor’s toga, screaming as he claws at him.

_ “No!  _ Do not touch him! Do not dare touch him!”

Voldemort kicks him away with an annoyed huff and Fenrir grabs ahold of Remus’s shoulders, yanking him roughly to his feet. 

“Do it,” Bellatrix hisses, and before Remus can even think or make a plea, Fenrir takes Remus’s left pinky and snaps it in half.


	4. IV / SIRIUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence, blood

The evening is crisp and cool, and virtually silent except for the cacophony of chirping cicadas in the garden. Sirius looks up from his chair to gaze at the stars, admiring their soft beauty as they twinkle against the black velvet of the sky. 

He is reminded of Remus as he stares at the moon so bright and lonely in the darkness, though everything lately reminds him of Remus. He can picture him now— his sparkling hazel eyes, his bronze curls, his freckled skin like cinnamon sprinkled cream. Sirius imagines bringing Remus back here, taking him to his private room, and Remus perching on the edge of his bed in the dim light of a single candle with a cheeky smile, his sure fingers strumming his lyre as if he is beckoning Sirius closer. 

Sirius’s heart clenches in a way that’s unfamiliar and painful, as if he has been yearning for years rather than only a few months, as if he had not seen him only this morning. His last letter had been strongly worded and he is beginning to worry that he has scared the boy off with his bluntness. Perhaps the letter had been too erotic, but he had been so sure at the time that Remus was feeling similarly. 

Every word of it had been true— Remus has squeezed himself into all of the little holes in Sirius’s life over these past few months of knowing him, filling every deep, dark part of him with a tenderness that Sirius was not aware he was capable of— and Sirius would do anything to keep him there, like a spark of hope in an otherwise empty vase.

Sirius had been too bold when he touched the boy’s cheek and let his thumb graze over that plump bottom lip, and how he wanted to kiss him there in the market, to plunge into the depths of that sweet yet wonderfully clever mouth, to bring him home and hide him away from all of the evils of the world.

Remus had said nothing then— had only stared up at Sirius like a frightened little bird with his starry eyes and blood-moon cheeks, causing Sirius to mull over his expression all day. If only they could speak to one another like normal people instead of through surreptitious whispers and furtive touches with their fingers hovering over the figs and apricots amid the throng of marketplace shoppers.

A harsh pounding on his front door causes Sirius to jolt and turn his head. It is a bit late for guests— even his servants are retired for the night. He blinks slowly, shaking off the reverie of Remus and all of his moon-faced loveliness, then rises from the chair to walk through the villa and to the door as the visitor continues their incessant knocking.

“What is all that noise about?” James asks, rubbing his eyes as he emerges from the guest’s chamber in only a tunic. Sirius simply shrugs as he opens the door.

Severus does not even ask permission before pushing his way into the villa with two armed guards and his long, dark toga billowing behind him. Sirius stumbles backward with the force of it, shocked and irritated by the rude intrusion.

“What do you come for? You are not welcome here.”

“You are being placed under arrest,” Severus explains, presenting a scroll from beneath his arm.

James scoffs. “On what grounds?”

“Conspiring with the emperor’s catamite to commit treason and murder.”

“Excuse me?” Sirius questions, shocked. “I did no such thing.”

“You should know, your boy is in a fair bit of pain because of you,” Severus snaps haughtily. “All of your little love letters were discovered and promptly destroyed.”

“Oh, gods,” Sirius breathes. The thought of Remus hurt at all is unbearable, let alone because of him. 

“Praying will not help you now, I am afraid.” Severus smirks and nods to the guards. “Take him out of here.”

They both move toward him but Sirius is quick to knock the scroll out of Severus’s hands and onto the marble floor. He grabs Severus, pinning his arms behind his back, and pulls out his blade in one fell swoop with the tip of it against the other man’s throat. The guards halt in their tracks with their hands on the hilts of their own weapons, looking first to Severus and then to one another as if for guidance.

“One more step toward me and I gut him like a fish, and then I kill you both.” Sirius spits. “Do not forget who you are dealing with here. I have taken more heads as a soldier than any before or after me. Leave while you have the chance.”

The guards only stare at him dumbly until Severus begins shaking and sputtering. “You lie!”

“Would you like to test me?”

After a quick moment of silence, Severus shakes his head. “Fine then. Go.”

“And speak nothing of this until Severus returns to you!” Sirius adds, hollering after them as they flee out of the open door.

It is not until he hears the sound of their horses’ hooves against the gravel path outside as they gallop away that Sirius releases Severus from his grip and sheaths his weapon before pushing him toward James. Instinctively, James pulls Severus’s arms behind his back again, holding him steadily in place. Severus wobbles on his feet as Sirius moves in.

“Tell me what happened,” Sirius snarls, leaning in close to Severus, one hand fisting the front of his toga.

Severus narrows his eyes up at Sirius, squirming beneath James’s hold on him. “I will tell you nothing, you brutes! Release me!”

Wasting no time, Sirius pulls his knee up with force into Severus’s stomach. With a grunt, Severus keels over and coughs, but James keeps his hold tight on him. Severus wheezes pitifully, but Sirius grabs his chin, forcing Severus to look him in the eye.

“What happened?”

Severus scowls but says nothing. James takes a fistful of his oily hair and yanks his head backward. “Speak!”

“I saw you at the market!” he gasps out. “I saw you touching him and I saw you give him something! I grew suspicious and relayed this to Emperor Voldemort. The boy’s room was searched. They found your letters. They know everything.”

“And his punishment?”

“The emperor’s guard, Fenrir— he broke one of the boy’s fingers. He has been confined to his room. Now let me go!”

Sirius has heard enough by now, his rage filling the entirety of his body from his feet planted on the floor and radiating up to his face. He can only see red, his fists clench, and with his unleashed fury he snatches Severus from James’s grasp and throws him to the ground. His hands have minds of their own as he punches Severus’s face over and over until it is nothing but a bloody mess. Severus screams, his arms flailing, fists beating against Sirius’s chest uselessly as Sirius’s hands close around his throat.

“Sirius, let him go,” James urges, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Sirius shakes himself, and as he looks down upon Severus’s mangled face and the wet piss stain on the front of the man’s toga, he realizes that this emperor, this evil man, has made a monster of him— first by having him kill dozens in his useless wars, and now by the damage he has done to Severus, a man whom by all accounts is nearly as cruel as his master, but who is only doing his job.

“You will pay for this!” Severus cries out, his words muffled beneath his hand as he cradles his broken nose.

“The only reason I am letting you live,” Sirius says with a snarl, “is so you can give Voldemort a message.”

“You are a madman!”

Sirius continues on, ignoring him. “Return to the emperor and tell him that if he ever lays a hand on my Remus again, either out of punishment or lust, I will be out for blood. I will take his ugly head on a stake and leave it for the vultures. I will kill you. I will kill Bellatrix. I will kill everyone in that forsaken palace if Remus is harmed. Do you hear me?”

Severus seems to contemplate this, defiantly not responding to the question.

“Do you hear me?!” Sirius repeats. “My gladius is not so forgiving as my fists, Severus!”

Again, Severus says nothing for a moment, but finally he nods. Satisfied, Sirius pulls himself off of the man, rising to his feet as Severus scurries out from beneath him on his hands and knees. Sirius leans to James then, turning sad eyes upon his friend.

“Collect Regulus,” he says solemnly. “The three of us need to go.”

As Severus finally rises to his feet and moves toward the exit, Sirius shouts after him, “Leave your horse! You will be walking back to the palace tonight.”

With the hem of his sleeve to his bleeding nose, Severus only nods again before disappearing out of the door.

  
  


In the dead of night, before Severus can even have made it back to the palace, Sirius, James, and Regulus all get dressed, pack lightly, and mount their horses. The three of them must all go into hiding for the time being, and with no planned destination in sight, that is easier said than done.

They ride on into the night, heading northeast and as far away from the palace as they can get. It is not until several hours later in the early morning when Regulus begins sagging on his horse that James suggests they stop and take shelter in an abandoned barn.

With a heavy sigh and a yawn, Sirius agrees. Admittedly, he is feeling rather guilty that he has dragged James and his baby brother into his mess, but if he would have just gone willingly with Severus he knows he would not only be killed but Regulus would have been unsafe— and Remus, his sweet, lovely Remus, would be left on his own.

They tie up the horses and make themselves beds among the haystacks using their cloaks as blankets. Sirius and James agree to alternate keeping watch as Regulus sleeps on, and when it is Sirius’s turn to rest, he has trouble shaking the image of Remus from his mind, with his broken hand and somber eyes.

“I have never seen you like this. What is it about this boy?” James had asked him as they rode, and Sirius did not quite know how to respond other than to shake his head and tighten his grip on Minerva’s reigns.

“There is fire in his eyes,” Sirius said, “and it would be an utter shame to see that flame flicker out when instead it should be stoked.”

It had been then and there that Sirius had vowed to himself to make a move. He is going to take Remus far away from Voldemort. Even if he dies trying, it will be worth the risk. Remus is worth everything.

  
  


James is the one who comes up with the idea. 

After a few days in the barn with low food rations, nothing but a nearby shallow pond to bathe in, and the same dirty clothes on their backs to change back into that they left with, the three men are ready to attempt to make contact with someone to bring them supplies. 

They cannot return home, neither to Sirius’s nor to James’s villas, and Lily is likely being watched as well due to her associations with James. But, as James brilliantly points out while the three of them share a meal of dried meat and fruit and stale bread, Lily is quite the skilled apothecary, taught by none other than Voldemort’s former physician, Horace. She is so skilled in fact, that the emperor has her hand deliver his ointments and oils to the palace— a privilege bestowed upon very few civilians, let alone to a woman.

The plan is to quietly contact Sirius’s trusted messenger, Peter, to bring them more food and clothing, and then have him bring a letter to Lily. They will have Lily bring, along with her usual weekly deliveries to the palace, a letter for Remus detailing the beginnings of a rendezvous. It is not a flawless plan by any means, in fact it is only a shot in the dark and Lily will have to sneak off to Remus’s room to give it to him, but James insists Lily can and will do it.

And so, when James returns to the barn with Peter and a fresh load of supplies including ink and papyrus, Sirius begins to write out the second part of his plans to Remus.

_ Remus— _

_ I heard what happened and I am sorry— I can never forgive myself for getting you into trouble and causing you pain, and I know sending this letter is contradictory, but please, I beg you to destroy it after reading. _

_ Severus came to my villa to arrest me. I am sure you have seen his face by now, but I would not go willingly. Needless to say, I am in hiding with my brother and a friend. _

_ I miss you. I have to see you. I grow more restless by the day, by the hour, not knowing how you are. _

_ Meet me tomorrow night?  _

_ I know this sounds insane, but there is a place where we can be alone. I will have you back before dawn. No one will know. _

_ If you are willing to take the risk, light a candle and place it in your window. I have instructed my men to flash a lantern when they see your light to let you know when all is clear. One of them will fetch you while the other keeps watch. Wear a dark cloak and move quietly. _

_ Look for them just after midnight.  _

_ Love— _

_ Sirius _


	5. V / REMUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: nonconsenual groping

With his bandaged left hand delicately holding the frame of his gilded lyre, Remus rests the instrument against the top of his thigh as he strums a soft tune for Emperor Voldemort. He is crouched down on the hard stone floor close to the fireplace on sore, red knees, banned from the privilege of sitting on chairs for the time being. Voldemort is busy at his desk, writing up some document as the flickering flames within the hearth cast strange shadows upon his marred face, like wild animals or monsters.

It has been several days since Fenrir broke Remus’s finger and while the hurt persists due to not being allowed any pain relievers, the heartbreak is even more painful than the injury. The loss of Sirius leaves a hole in his very being in a way he has not felt since the passing of his mother, like a sharp knife twisting into the most tender parts of him. 

What would she think of him now, Remus wonders. Would she be proud that the emperor has taken a shine to him? Would she be mortified that this is how her child’s life has turned out? What kind of dreams, if any, did she have for him?

They had both been kitchen servants in another villa when she had left him five years ago, and with her death came his sale to the emperor. He had even started in the kitchens here, but Voldemort had quickly taken a shine to him, set him up with the best tutors, music lessons, his own bedroom, and the finest clothing a servant could get away with wearing, all with the understanding that in a few short years, Voldemort would be taking him to bed. Remus chooses to believe she would not have wanted this for him— his mother was strong, brave, and kind, nothing like the emperor is. But, Remus figures, she would probably not be too disappointed with him, even with all of the trouble he has gotten himself into.

Rabastan raps on the emperor’s open door to let him know his guest has arrived for their weekly appointment, and Voldemort signals for him to allow whoever it is in. Remus has never been privy to these meetings however, and rises to his feet to leave.

“Where are you going boy? Stay here with me.” Voldemort pats his leg as if he were calling over a dog, and Remus sucks up his pride to take his place obediently by the emperor’s side.

When Lily enters the tablinum, Remus cannot help but smile. She is a ray of orange sun shining upon his otherwise bleak existence inside the villa. Her eyes light up when she notices Remus and gives him a tiny wave as she balances her basket of goods in her arms.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” Lily says pleasantly. “I brought your favorites today, along with some new concoctions.”

As the two of them begin to discuss the benefits of each of her creams and oils, Remus’s brain is screaming with everything he wants to ask Lily—  _ Have you seen Sirius? How is he? Where is he? Is he angry with me?  _ Instead, he can only press his lips together to hold himself back from speaking as Lily lines up bottles neatly atop Voldemort’s desk.

Eventually Voldemort dismisses her and she moves toward the door but turns back around at the last second, throwing the emperor her sweetest smile. “My lord, would you mind terribly if Remus walked me out? I have missed seeing him at the market this week.”

Voldemort frowns but gives her a curt nod. “Yes, fine,” he responds, then turns to Remus. “But you are to come right back here when you are done.”

Remus gives his master a tiny bow and a whispered thank you before he tucks his lyre under his arm and meets Lily at the doorway to lead her out.

“I am so glad to see you, Remus, you have no idea,” she says with a tired sigh, the cheery smile slipping from her face as she shifts the weight of the basket on her hip. There are too many servants around the villa preparing for lunch for them to say much to one another, but Lily pulls him into a one-armed hug regardless.

“How is he?” Remus whispers into her ear. 

“He is safe,” she whispers back, and slips something behind the front of his belt. “Here, for later.”

“Wha—?”

“It is something very  _ serious _ ,” she says as she pulls away from him, her green eyes darting around the villa as if to be sure no one is listening. “Be careful. No more broken fingers.” With that and a timid wave goodbye, Lily turns and leaves Remus in the doorway of the atrium.

He runs his fingers along the fabric of his belt and he can just barely feel it, the little folded up square of what is likely a note either from Sirius or about him. He wants nothing more right now than to hide himself in his room and read it immediately, but instead he drags his feet back to his master’s tablinum.

“My lord,” Remus says, offering another little bow as he re-enters the room.

As Voldemort gestures Remus closer, he slides one of the bottles of oil across the desk to himself, then pivots to look up at Remus while curling his eerily long fingers around his wrist.

“Come, child. Sit. Your knees must be so sore.”

He tugs on Remus’s arm and Remus realizes what it is he wants, so he places his lyre on the desk and starts to turn to sit on his master’s lap, but the emperor stops him again.

“Not like that. Face me.”

Remus takes a deep breath and shudders internally at the suggestion, but ignores his instinct to flee and does as he is told. He places one knee on the plush red cushion of Voldemort’s chair, then the other, straddling the older man as he sits. Voldemort smirks up at him with his hands on Remus’s hips, pushing him down so that he is seated firmly upon his thighs.

“There we go. Is that not just lovely?” Voldemort asks, then picks up the bottle and removes the cork. He holds it out to Remus while sliding his free arm around the boy’s waist. “I want you to apply it for me.”

Tilting his head down to obscure his expression, Remus frowns and takes the bottle from him. He tilts it and pours a tiny bit of the thick, yellow oil out onto his fingers then, with a shaky hand, begins to smooth it over the scars on the emperor’s cheeks.

“Mmm,” Voldemort moans, leaning his head against the back of the chair. He closes his eyes and Remus seizes the moment to gag quietly into the pit of his elbow.

Remus’s fingers continue to carefully caress the myriad lines and grooves while the emperor sighs and slides his hands up the length of Remus’s bare thighs. He prays that the rumors about the emperor are true— that the reason he and the empress do not have any children is because of his impotence rather than her affair with the stable man Rodolphus— but Remus is beginning to suspect they are not.

Voldemort looks at Remus and takes the bottle from him, then carefully sets it back down on the table. He pulls the boy closer to himself, hands squeezing Remus’s waist as he pushes his hips upward between his legs.

“Sir,” Remus whispers, his voice a mere tremble. Not only is he repulsed by the suggestiveness of his master’s actions, but one of the emperor's thumbs is dangerously close to where Lily’s note is hidden beneath his belt. He squirms, his stomach goes sour, he swallows the lump in his throat and closes his eyes as Voldemort cups him between his legs.

“I think,” Voldemort begins as a lecherous smirk creeps across his face, slick and shiny from the thick layer of oil, “we will move your appointment up. Take care of this problem.” Remus casts his eyes away from the emperor as he pulls his hand from beneath his tunic and pats him on his backside. “Good boy,” he says. “Now go on.”

As soon as he makes it back to his chamber, Remus closes the door and chucks his lyre into the bed, wiping his hands on his tunic as his entire body reels with disgust.

He is done with this life— the emperor sickens him more each day and he wishes he could simply leave, just run away and do as he pleases, live as he pleases, consort with whomever he pleases with no repercussions.

After shaking the feeling of Voldemort off of himself, Remus retrieves the folded up papyrus from behind his belt, just as he had every other day since he and Sirius started their secret affair— with the help of Lily, of course, to keep Severus distracted in the market.

Lily, bless her. What a brave woman to come here and sneak this right in front of the emperor, risking her own life for her friends. Remus wants to kiss her cheeks for doing this, and he hopes that Sirius will thank her in kind.

Remus unfolds the note and holds it up to the sunlight in the window, his eyes rushing through the words as quickly as possible, overwhelmed with emotion as he absorbs every word, every letter, every stroke of black ink into his very being.

Sighing, he holds the letter against his chest, over his thumping heart. He takes a deep, steadying breath, reads it three more times, then, rather than stashing it beneath his mattress this time, he immediately lights the candle on his table and sets fire to the corner, watching as the flame takes Sirius’s sweet words away. He drops it to the floor before the fire reaches his fingertips and snuffs out the flame with his sandal, leaving nothing behind but a smudge of ash on the floor.

_ Love _ is what Sirius has written there at the bottom of the papyrus.  _ Love. _ And oh, how Remus wishes he could keep those words with him and read them every day, to be loved by this man is to have all of the splendor in the world within his grasp.  _ Love, _ Sirius had said, and is that what this is? Dreaming, longing, suffering, fighting, risking everything for only a glimpse of the object of his desire, for only a taste of something he cannot actually have? What terrible pain it is, what agony; what a cruel joke the universe has played on them both— doomed to love and lose. But, what if…  _ oh. _

His hands tremble as the realization of what Sirius has asked of him kicks him in the gut like a bucking horse. 

_ I miss you. I have to see you. _

_ Meet me tomorrow night? _

_ I’ll have you back before dawn.  _

It is maddening how enchanting Sirius is, how he knows all the right words to make Remus swoon and yearn to be close to him. He is not quite sure what Sirius has in mind for him tonight, but he is certain he’d do anything the man asked— and so, Remus begins to plan his own escape, even if only for one night.

  
  


Remus sits on the edge of his mattress, wringing his hands as he stares out of the window and waits for Sirius’s man to collect him.

The moon is only a thin silver sickle in the sky, the night is dark and warm, and after a boisterous party with plenty of food and drink flowing, sleep has settled over the villa like a thick woolen blanket. It is the perfect opportunity to sneak away for a few hours, and Remus wonders if Sirius had planned it this way on purpose.

He has been sitting here for hours with his candle lit and his hooded cloak wrapped around himself, his heartbeat erratic due both to the fear of getting caught and the anticipation of finally being alone with Sirius. He had even gone to the baths earlier, putting in more effort to clean himself and perfume his skin than usual, hoping to have Sirius’s hands on his body. He wants to impress him, to make him certain he still wants to buy Remus if the emperor will allow it, to prove himself worthy of such a handsome and kind man. 

He is almost worried that it was all for naught and Sirius’s men are not coming when he spies a dim flicker of light near the shrubbery at the edge of the emperor’s garden. Remus stands and moves closer to the window, squinting his eyes as he peers into the darkness, and there it is again— the flash of a lantern letting him know it is time.

Remus continues to wait patiently, leaning halfway out of the window when he spies a dark figure moving swiftly across the garden before it presses itself against the outer wall of the villa.

“Hello?” Remus whispers into the darkness. There’s a quiet shuffling, and then a man’s face smiling at his window. He has a black cloak draped over his shoulders, so Remus assumes this is the one he has been waiting for. “Are you with Sirius?”

“I am James,” the man says, introducing himself with a little bow and a flourished hand. Remus grins— Sirius had mentioned James in some of his letters.

“I am Remus,” he says and pulls himself up onto the ledge. He cautiously looks both ways before swinging his legs over the threshold and leaping down onto the grass outside with a muffled grunt. 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Sirius is… quite taken with you.”

“Really?”

James nods and grabs onto his wrist. “Come.”

They both tiptoe quietly across the garden and to the shrubbery, to the plump little man waiting there with the lantern and his own black cloak around his body. The man smiles at him amiably and shakes his hand.

“Hello, I am Peter,” he whispers, then takes ahold of Remus’s arm. “This way. James will take you on horseback. There is a small, abandoned villa not too far from here. He is waiting there for you. I will be just behind you, keeping a lookout.”

Nodding, Remus pulls his cloak around himself and follows the two men to a pair of horses up ahead.

He can barely contain his happiness as Peter helps him up onto the horse behind James, a slow smile spreading across his face as he looks to the stars and mouths a silent  _ thank you _ to the gods.


	6. VI / SIRIUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence, sex

The night air is thick and sticky with humidity. Sirius wipes his brow with the back of his hand as he paces the floor of the tiny, dilapidated villa, anxiously awaiting the return of James and Peter with, hopefully, Remus in tow, and praying that the three of them are all safe.

Peter led them to this place— he came across it by chance while out searching specifically for somewhere for them to meet. On horseback, it is approximately one turn of an hourglass away from the emperor’s palace, which is far enough away that the cracked edifices and broken shutters are not an eyesore for anyone to be too concerned with. It is blissfully quiet here, peaceful, except for the sudden harsh, exasperated sigh that comes from Regulus as he folds his arms across his chest.

“I do not understand what all the fuss is about,” Regulus grumbles from his place sitting on the dirty floor, his legs curled to the side of his body. “Is this boy really worth all the secrecy and danger?”

“You are right, you do not understand and therefore should refrain from speaking on it,” Sirius responds tiredly, waving him off. He has had this same conversation with James, as well as with Peter. The only person who did not question his motives was Lily and she had known Remus prior to all of this— she understood immediately how precious he is and exactly why Sirius feels inexplicably drawn to him, although he is not entirely sure himself.

“Excuse me for not wanting to see you killed for this,” Regulus tries to reason with him. “What happens to me if you are gone? You said the emperor was fond of me— but I will not bow to him nor will I lay with him!”

“Regulus, quiet. You are safe. I will not have you harmed.”

Regulus scoffs as he dusts off his tunic. “All of this to bed a catamite.”

“You know nothing of it!” Sirius snaps and jabs an angry finger in his brother’s direction. “I do not want to simply bed him. He is worth more to me than such a frivolous thing.”

“You would not turn it down.”

“Enough of this,” Sirius says with an irritated sigh, collapsing into a rickety wooden chair. He rests his elbows on his thighs and smooths his hands over his face as he contemplates just what has brought him to this.

What if he had never met Remus that day in the market? Would he ever have met him at all? How many times had they passed one another in the throngs of the crowd without noticing one another? Why, exactly, is he willing to risk everything for this young man? Why does the mere thought of living without ever seeing Remus again sting him like salt on an open wound?

The sound of galloping hooves rouses him from his thoughts and he glances toward the open window. Two cloaked men are moving around outside the house and he curses under his breath— it seems Remus didn’t make it after all.

The wooden front door creaks open, and just as Sirius shifts his gaze over to thank his friends for their efforts regardless, the figure in the doorway lowers his hood and looks at him with wide, hazel eyes. Sirius rises to his feet.

“Remus.”

“Sirius—” Remus starts, but cuts himself off as he hurries across the room and leaps into Sirius’s open arms. 

Sirius holds him tightly, one arm around his waist, the other hand flat against his back as he noses into Remus’s curls and breathes in the fragrance of sweet neroli, and it does not go unnoticed that this is the most they have ever touched. Remus is warm and solid pressed against the front of him and Sirius hums contentedly as they melt into one another.

“You came?” he whispers into Remus’s ear, more of a question than a statement because he fears his eyes deceive him. There had been many a night in which Remus came to him in his mind, and Sirius held him just like this before waking to an empty bed and realizing it had only been a fantasy.

Remus pulls back a tiny bit and looks at him, touching the angle of Sirius’s jaw with his fingertips. “Of course I came,” he says with a smile. “I would do anything to see you for even a few seconds.”

There is so much Sirius longs to tell Remus here and now that they can finally be alone, so he looks to James to give the unspoken request that he keep a close eye on lookout while he takes this time with Remus before they must return him to the palace. James nods and gestures for Sirius to go on, so Sirius clasps Remus’s hand and leads him into one of the little bedrooms by only the dim light of the sickle moon through the windows.

There is barely anything inside the room, only another old chair and a makeshift bed of blankets on the floor that looks as if it has been nested in, eaten, and subsequently abandoned by rats. Sirius grimaces and steers Remus toward the chair.

“I have missed seeing you,” Sirius tells him as he closes the door behind them, taking both of his hands within his own. He presses his lips to Remus’s bandaged finger and releases another sigh. 

“And I have missed you,” Remus responds, casting his eyes down. “I do not know if you still want me, but—”

“What?” Sirius asks. “Of course I do, I have told you as much. And I will find a way.” He squeezes Remus’s hand in reassurance, but Remus only looks at him sadly as he pulls away and removes his cloak before settling himself upon the edge of the chair, bringing one leg up to bend and rest comfortably. That glimpse of inner thigh beneath his tunic catches Sirius off guard again, and he wills himself to turn his gaze back upon the boy’s face, rather than ruin the moment with his sordid thoughts.

“It is only that… Well, the emperor will be moving my appointment up,” Remus says, picking at his bandage nervously. “I am almost out of time. He is too eager; impatient.”

“Did he touch you?”

“Sirius—”

“Did he? I will kill him as he sleeps and spit on his corpse,” he practically snarls, but Remus surprisingly smiles at that, chuckling quietly in the dark room as he reaches out for Sirius’s hand and pulls him in closer to himself. “What? Why do you laugh?”

“You are kind and chivalrous,” Remus whispers, lacing their fingers together. “I am not worth all of this trouble you are putting yourself through.”    
  
Sirius drops to his knees then, resting their clasped hands on Remus’s thigh. “You are worth everything, my darling,” he says. “I cherish you. I worship you.”

“Oh, Sirius,” Remus says breathily as he raises one hand to stroke Sirius’s hair back from his forehead. “Come— kiss me.”

Inhaling deeply, Sirius releases Remus’s hand to hold his face between his palms, staring up at him intently. He studies all of the little curiosities of Remus’s face as he observes him— the clusters of freckles on his cheeks like pretty constellations, the unusual green-brown hue of his eyes, his long, elegant eyelashes, the pink apples of his cheeks, the curve of his lips as they tick up on one side into a flirtatious half-grin— and he’s fairly certain he has never laid his own eyes upon anyone so lovely. How lucky he is, he thinks, to hold such a handsome boy in his hands, to be revered by someone so sweet and quick-witted as Remus is.

Sirius turns and brushes his nose against Remus’s cheek, his parted lips dragging slowly across the smoothness of Remus’s jaw. He brings one hand up to touch Remus’s soft, honey-colored curls, thumbing his earlobe as his fingers pass by. “I have dreamt of you every night since I met you,” he whispers to him in the darkness. Remus simply hums in response before turning his head and finally pressing their mouths together.

Kissing Remus is like drinking the finest Roman wine— his tongue is sweet and intoxicating, and Sirius is hooked from the first sip. Remus is spirited and mischievous with his quiet laughter and impish nips at Sirius’s lips, and Sirius allows him this playground. He wants to taste more of him, wants to be completely drunk on him, and when he pulls Remus to his feet and presses him against the cold stone wall he almost does not even realize he has done it until Remus is pushing his hips forward, eliciting muffled moans from both of them.

“You are good at this,” Sirius murmurs while sliding his hand up the length of Remus’s thigh. 

“Are you surprised, my lord?” Remus laughs, one hand on the back of Sirius neck as he rubs the other against the stiffness beneath Sirius’s tunic. “I am not so pure as you think me to be.”

A harsh burst of air escapes Sirius’s mouth, and he curses quietly as his eyelids droop and close. “Have you done this before?”

“I have done some things. This, yes. Other things, no.”

“You keep astonishing me,” Sirius whispers as he gazes down at him. “And here I thought you were an innocent little thing all along. Sneaky boy.”

“I maintain some of my innocence, sir. I have never taken a lover.”

“Not yet.”

“Mm, no. Not yet. Would you like to do the honors?” Remus asks, biting his lip playfully as he slips his hand into Sirius’s undergarments, barely brushing the head of his erection with his fingertips before Sirius grips Remus’s wrist and pulls his hand away. 

“What— here and now?” Sirius asks, raising his eyebrows.

“When else?”

Sirius shakes his head. “I do not think this is a good time—”

“But… if it is not  _ you _ now, then it is  _ him _ later, and I do not want my first time to be with him. I want it to be with someone whom I—” Remus cuts himself off and presses his lips together as if to hold in his words.

“Whom you what?” Sirius asks with a smirk before leaning down to kiss his cheek. 

“Someone I actually like, rather than someone I can barely stand to be in the same room as.”

“Oh, Remus,” Sirius says. He wants to, he has thought of it, craved it, fantasized about it, but he cannot bring himself to say yes, to take Remus here on the floor of this filthy villa in urgent secrecy. “Anything, I will do anything but that.”

Remus frowns. “But why? I thought— I thought you wanted me. I thought we both wanted—”

“I do. I want you more than I can even explain,” he says in an attempt to reassure him. “But not here, not like this. Not when we have so little time, no proper bed, nothing. You deserve more than this.”

Remus shifts against the wall and looks away.

“Stop pouting. I want to romance you, Remus. This is… not how I picture it being with us.”

“I am not pouting.”

“You are. It is quite cute.”

Remus rolls his eyes but smiles as he looks back to Sirius, raising his chin defiantly. “Fine then. Tell me how you do picture it.”

“What? You want me to say impure things to you?”

“That depends. Are your thoughts impure? Mine are  _ filthy. _ ”

“You are terrible.”

“And yet you adore me.”

“You are absolutely impudent. But yes, I do.”

“Come, indulge me, my lord.”

“Fine then,” Sirius says with a smirk, acquiescing to him with a surprising willingness he has never given to any lover. He reaches up to comb his fingers through Remus’s curls, tugging on them gently. “In my fantasies you are always with me at my villa. You play your lyre for me, and you sing so beautifully that I cannot help but take you into my arms and carry you to my private room.”

“And then what?” Remus asks breathily, his eyelashes fluttering as he reaches down between their bodies to hike his tunic up, exposing the crests of his slender thighs, white and untouched by the sun.

“And then,” Sirius continues with a sigh, watching as Remus presses the palm of his hand to his own groin. “I kiss you all over as I peel off your tunic, our hands and mouths take their time to touch and taste and explore…” he smiles again, trailing off.

“Then?” Remus urges. “Go on; you were just getting to the good part.”

“Was I?” Sirius asks as he fingers the shoulder strap of Remus’s tunic. “Well, I will leave it as a surprise, then. For next time.”

“You are despicable!” Remus whines, smacking Sirius’s arm. “Why do you tease me so? I have wanted nothing but for you to properly fuck me for ages—”

“Remus!” Sirius cannot help but laugh at the boy’s impertinence.

“I am  _ hard _ ,” he complains. 

Sirius’s eyes flicker down to Remus’s hand rubbing against the cloth of his underwear. “Yes, I can see that.”

Remus huffs. “I should not even allow you to look if you are not willing to do something about it.”

“Brat. I never said I would not give you some relief.”

“How do you mean?” Remus asks, blinking his owl-large eyes hopefully, hand stilled to hold up the edge of his tunic. 

Sirius grins and shifts to kneel at Remus’s feet, his hands on Remus’s hips as he thumbs the tie of his undergarments. “May I?”

Biting his lip, Remus nods and watches as Sirius begins to pull the thin white cloth down. Sirius holds his breath in anticipation of the very thing he has been dreaming of, and then there he is— Remus is fully erect and red and lovely, and the only thing separating the two of them now is empty space and air. Sirius looks him in the eye as he takes Remus into his hand and begins to stroke him, keeps his gaze fixed upon Remus’s face as his pink lips part to gasp and a deep blush creeps up his neck and tints his cheeks. 

Sirius takes Remus’s hand and kisses his knuckles, his palm, the inside of his wrist with all of the same desire and adoration he had poured into his letters. “Oh, how I worship you,” he whispers and moves lower still, and when he takes Remus’s cock into his mouth, Remus whimpers and sinks one hand into Sirius’s hair.

_ “Gods,” _ Remus breathes, his voice trembling while Sirius grips the back of his thigh and guides Remus’s leg up to rest his knee over Sirius’s shoulder. Remus keeps ahold of the edge of his tunic, raising it enough that very little has been left to Sirius’s imagination.

Sirius looks up, watching Remus watch him use his mouth and hand in tandem while his opposite hand skitters over that milk-white thigh again and behind Remus to cup his smooth backside. Oh, how he longs to undress Remus completely, to have him lie on the silk sheets of Sirius’s bed in nothing but his sandals and a laurel wreath nestled atop his golden-bronze curls like the deities Sirius is sure he is descended from. To simply stare at Remus as he sleeps would be a privilege, he thinks to himself, but to lay with him and be his lover would be a blessing.

Remus’s legs begin to tremble then, his panting grows ragged, and Sirius takes him down deeper, pressing his nose into the soft skin of his belly with a contented hum. Remus tilts his head back against the wall and moans softly, thrusting his hips forward to fuck into Sirius’s eager mouth.

“Sirius,” he groans, his eyebrows knitting up in pleasure as he arches his back off of the wall, his fingers still tangled into Sirius’s long hair when he finishes. Sirius swallows him down as he caresses his leg, gently raising it off of his shoulder and placing his foot back onto the floor before pulling his mouth off from Remus’s spent cock. He laps up the last remaining drops of semen from the tip before tucking him back into his undergarments and swipes his hand across his lips, then rises to his feet to take Remus into his arms once more, dropping happy kisses to his cheeks and forehead while Remus laughs.

“May I have a go now?” Remus asks with a smile, slipping his hands beneath Sirius’s tunic again to grasp his erection as he pivots to back Sirius against the wall. 

He drops to his knees, and it is at this very unfortunate moment that the sound of shouting and stomping and broken wood echoes throughout the villa, and before either of them can react, a guard is grabbing Remus and yanking him to his feet, and another has punched Sirius in the gut, forcing him to his knees. Two more have Sirius’s wrists secured with a rope in front of him, and they yank him back to his feet and remove his gladius from his belt.

“Remus!” he shouts, struggling against the guards and his restraints to no avail.

Remus cries out, kicking his legs and attempting to squirm from his captor’s grasp, but the guard easily picks him up as if he weighs nothing before carrying him away and out of the room.

“Remus!”

With a haughty smirk plastered to his face, Severus strolls into the room, eyeing Sirius with amused delight. “Finally caught in the act. You won’t be let off this time,” he says. 

Mustering up all of his recklessness and bravado, Sirius curls his lip and spits in the man’s face, but he is quickly put in his place with a guard’s fist to his nose.

Sighing, Severus wipes his face with his sleeve and nods to the guards. “Take him away.” 

They handle him roughly, dragging him out of the room by his bound arms through the villa and outside. There are nearly a dozen guards and as many horses, but James and Regulus are thankfully nowhere to be found, and Sirius prays they were quick enough to leave without being seen. Remus is bound on one horse with none other than Fenrir guarding him, and he gasps in horror when he sees the blood on Sirius’s face.

“Do not harm him! He did nothing!” Remus hollers, but Fenrir turns quickly and backhands him across the mouth, nearly knocking him off of the horse.

Sirius instinctively lunges forward again, but he is pushed to the ground on his elbows and knees. He spits the blood out of his mouth then raises his head as another man approaches him. He blinks in confusion.

“I am sorry sir, but you had this coming.”

“You? How could you?”

Peter shakes his head. “I did not want to do this. The emperor… he offered me money and protection. I had no choice. It was either me or you.”

“You are dead to me,” Sirius says, then raises his voice, screaming into the night. “All of you are dead to me! I will personally strike all of you down!” The guards break out into laughter as Sirius is lifted onto the back of a horse by two men and his wrists are bound to the saddle.

“The only dead man here is you, Sirius. Pray that Emperor Voldemort grants you a quick death,” Severus crows as he climbs onto the back of his own black horse and takes the reins. “Say goodbye to the whore. This is the last you will ever see of him!”

Flicking the reins, Severus steers his horse back in the direction of the palace and half of the guards fall into line behind him, along with Peter, and Fenrir with Remus.

“Remus!” Sirius shouts out again, and Remus turns to look over his shoulder at him. His pretty face is bruised and tear-stained, and Sirius’s heart twists painfully at all the hurt he has caused this boy.  _ “I love you!” _

Remus opens his mouth to respond, but Fenrir turns and seizes him by the throat. He whispers something to him and with one last glance over his shoulder, Remus shakes his head.

The rest of the guards split off in the opposite direction with Sirius in tow, away from the palace and toward Azkaban Prison.


	7. VII / REMUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: injuries, blood

The week passes by slowly and Remus is living in veritable hell. He is no longer confined to his room, but rather forced to kneel at Emperor Voldemort’s side on a leash like an animal. His only significant time away from him is to sleep, but even then the guards rotate keeping watch over him, despite the fact that his one window has been barred over and he cannot run again even if he wanted to.

The physical penalty for his rendezvous with Sirius was even worse than his previous punishment— he would gladly take another broken finger over having the soles of his feet whipped by Fenrir until they bled and split open and he begged for mercy and forgiveness from the emperor. Now his feet are bandaged, too raw and swollen to fit comfortably in his sandals and too sore to stand on, so Voldemort keeps him kneeling within an arm’s reach to ogle or grope whenever he wishes. Remus has been reduced to simply complying, all the while thinking of Sirius. 

The pain radiating up Remus’s body from his wounded feet keeps him dizzy and disoriented. He is often unaware of what is going on around him, his mind drifts in and out, but when he hears Voldemort speak Sirius’s name, he perks up and makes a concerted effort to pay attention. Although his head is fuzzy, he listens to the conversations happening around him, and it is only because of this that he knows for certain that Sirius remains alive in Azkaban Prison, and he is likely to remain there forever rather than exiled or put to death.

When he is dismissed in the evenings, Remus carefully hobbles to his room and sobs for the freedom and love he almost had and lost, completely ignoring his guards. A mere half an hour in Sirius’s arms was not nearly long enough. It was only a taste of what they could have had, but he will remember their time together fondly.

Sirius will never even know how Remus really feels because, like a coward, he did not seize his one chance to say it. Instead he let Fenrir intimidate him with his threat of castrating Remus himself with his gladius. Remus stupidly realized too late that the emperor would not have stood for a guard abusing his catamite without specific orders, but alas, he had been in such a state of shock after the entire ordeal combined with Sirius’s declaration of love that he could not speak anyway.

Now, Remus is knelt beside Voldemort, drifting in and out of consciousness due to sheer boredom more than anything else, when he hears the empress speak his love’s name.

“I do not see why you will not simply have Sirius executed— he has caused enough trouble as it is,” Bellatrix is going on with a wave of her hand as she lounges lazily in the chaise across from Voldemort in his tablinum. “I do not care if he is my cousin; he should lose his head for consistently defying you. He was always a nuisance, even as a child.”

“You only want to take over his estate, Bella, and I have told you, I am not interested in this,” Voldemort says as he scribbles something down with a pen.

“And you only want his brother, Regulus,” Bellatrix scoffs. “I am not fooled.”

“Whom I bring into this villa is none of your concern. He is a beloved war hero and a pillar of our community. It would not do to have him disappear, as much as I would revel in his death. There would be a revolt,” he tells her, setting down his pen and closing his tablet. “Anyway, I have one last proposal for him. Find Severus and tell him to fetch Sirius from Azkaban and bring him to me.”

Bellatrix rolls her eyes but stands anyway, smoothing her emerald green stola with her hands. She gives Remus a sideways glance before flouncing off, as if he is simply waiting for her departure to proposition her husband, or perhaps to catch a glimpse of any emotion that might flicker across his face at the mention of Sirius coming to the palace again— but Remus keeps his expression neutral, steadies his shaking hands, and takes a deep, calming breath as Voldemort tugs on his leash and pulls him onto his lap.

  
  


It is not until three days later that Severus and two armored guards escort Sirius into the palace. His wrists are bound, his tunic is filthy with blood and dirt, his face is bruised purple, his lips are cracked and scabbed, his normally long, lustrous hair is a tangled, knotted mess, and although he looks a far cry from the handsome man Remus met at the market months ago, he is still as beautiful as ever and Remus wants nothing more than to leap into his arms and kiss all of his pains away.

Sirius is led into the emperor’s tablinum and immediately his eyes fall upon Remus kneeling there on the floor beside Voldemort’s chair like a dog. His mouth falls open in shock, but Remus pleads with his eyes and a subtle shake of his head to not do or say anything rash. Thankfully Sirius seems to understand and hesitantly turns his eyes back to the emperor.

“My lord,” he says with a bow, his voice cracking as if he has done nothing but scream his throat raw for the past week and a half. “May I ask why you called upon me?”

“All of this fighting must be really quite tiring for you,” Voldemort says with a smirk and reaches over to Remus, stroking the top of his head like a beloved pet. Remus frowns; Sirius scowls.

“I suppose.”

“I do not want to punish you, Sirius— you have been so loyal until now,” the emperor continues. “Why do you insist on defying me? What is it about my catamite that has you so stupidly besotted? Have you no sense of self-preservation?”

Sirius seems to think on his answer for a moment before responding, and when he finally does, he looks to Remus.

“I am simply in love with him,” Sirius admits again, and Severus laughs out loud but Sirius shoots him a look of contempt and continues on. “He is unlike anyone I have ever known, and I feel his talents are being wasted while he is locked away in this palace with you.” 

Remus can feel the jolt of Cupid’s arrow piercing his heart— it is more tortuous than any of his punishments, to not be able to have Sirius despite loving him so.

The emperor seems almost too pleased with this response— the edges of his scarred lips curl up into a particularly heinous smile as he grasps Remus’s chin between his fingers and twists his head to look up at him. “He  _ is _ awfully pretty.” 

“He is more than just  _ pretty _ ,” Sirius snaps, but Voldemort does not even react to the harsh tone in Sirius’s voice. That ridiculous false nose, the evil glint in his eyes that almost makes him look snakelike, that lecherous leer makes Remus sick. His stomach churns unpleasantly, and he knows the next thing that Voldemort says will be particularly cruel.

Voldemort turns back to Sirius, leaning forward with his forearms flat on the top of his desk. “I would like you to reconsider my proposition. You can have your freedom and take the boy today, if you accept.”

Sirius frowns, shaking his head solemnly. “I will not give you Regulus. I can offer more money, my properties, anything else— but not my brother. I would rather die than let him down.”

“You offer more than any catamite is worth.”

“I would willingly give up all that I have. But I cannot in good conscience trade one boy I love for another.”

“Very well. You have made your choice.” Voldemort waves his hand. “Severus, take him back to Azkaban.” Severus grins triumphantly and the guards seize Sirius to drag him off again.

“Wait— please, my lord—” Sirius begs, struggling against the pull of the guards on his arms. “Is there anything else I can offer?”

“Enough of your babbling,” Severus says. “You and the whore will both get what is coming—”

Sirius twists away from the guards and cuts Severus off with a sharp elbow to the nose, causing Severus to howl in agony and stumble backwards, clutching his face. “How dare you speak of him that way!” Sirius growls while Severus holds his dark sleeve to his bloodied nose. The guards both grab onto Sirius again and move to take him away, but the emperor stands and raises a hand to stop them.

“You like to fight like an undignified animal?” he asks calmly. “Fine then. Here is another offer for you and it will be my last one, otherwise you can rot in Azkaban for all I care.”

“I am listening,” Sirius says, his lip curling up in defiance as he struggles against the guards’ grips.

“Double or nothing, along with your freedom.”

“Elaborate.”

“You and my champion, Fenrir, in a true gladiator’s fight in the Colosseum. If you win, you may keep your brother and take the boy as well.”

Remus shakes his head— a nobleman fighting as a gladiator is virtually unheard of. It would be degrading and humiliating, and Sirius would never live the embarrassment of it down.

Sirius hesitates. “And if I lose?”

“To lose is to die. And both boys will belong to me.”

“No!” Remus cries out, shaking his head. “Sirius, no. He will either kill you or you will be disgraced! It is not worth it!”

Sirius only looks at him, his grey eyes shining with so much sadness and regret, and Remus knows he is thinking of nothing but how he has let him down.

“You are worth everything, Remus,” he says, and turns to face the emperor. 

“Well? What is your decision?” Voldemort asks him.

“I will do it,” Sirius responds.

Remus collapses onto the floor then, sobbing uncontrollably with the bitter heartbreak of losing Sirius over and over again.


	8. VIII / SIRIUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mild misogyny

It is likely only out of sheer amusement rather than any kind of empathy that Emperor Voldemort agrees to leave Remus intact and release Sirius from Azkaban for him to train for his fight against Fenrir. Sirius knows well enough that there is no doubt in the emperor’s mind that Sirius will lose and Fenrir will splay him open like a lamb with his blade in front of tens of thousands of spectators including Remus, the one whom he is putting everything on the line for. 

Sirius, however, is a bit more optimistic. 

Fenrir is more beast than man, more brawn than brain, and although he has never lost a fight, he is no soldier. Sirius has seen him fight— he is stupid and graceless, crude and oafish, relying more on his brute strength than any technique or skill. This is what Sirius hopes to focus on— to hone that of which he is already proficient, build up muscle, and train as much as or harder than he did when he was a part of the Roman Army, before taking over his father’s estate.

At James’s insistence, they are traveling now to Capua with Regulus in tow. There is a former soldier there, a friend of James’s with an apparent personal vendetta against the emperor, who is willing to train Sirius for a weighty fee. James will not say much when Sirius asks questions, only urges Sirius that it will be worth it and to hold his opinion until they properly meet— not that he can form much of an opinion anyway without many details. 

It is a morning’s ride to Capua by horse, and after a rather high-strung argument, the three of them ride on in relative silence. Sirius is determined, but James and Regulus are terrified— and rightfully so. Regulus had lashed out at his brother, calling him a selfish imbecile who only thinks with his cock, and Sirius had, regretfully, slapped his brother for that, reminding them both of the horrible way their parents had raised them. He finds it is increasingly difficult to navigate the balance between being a father figure and a brother, to keep a firm hand while remaining affectionate. He is all the family Regulus has, Regulus is all he has, and he reminds himself regularly to check his attitude when it comes to dealing with the boy. 

In the event of Sirius’s loss, James has promised he will steal Regulus away and flee. There will be no chance at Regulus ever stepping foot in the emperor’s palace if either Sirius, James, or Lily have anything to say on the matter.

And that is one good thing that has come of all this— James and Lily are growing closer. James’s scheming and secrecy for a greater good seems to appeal to her, and she has been more than willing to help however she can, including looking out for Regulus with James while Sirius was locked away, and working as somewhat of a spy, bringing tidbits of information from the palace whenever she is able.

Those twelve days he was in Azkaban nearly drove him mad— he thought of nothing but revenge on Peter for betraying him, of Remus terrified for him and likely being punished again because of Sirius’s selfishness in wanting to be near him, of his brother and James and whether or not they had been captured. He had screamed and fought against the guards, had even tried to pry the bars off of the window in his cell to get out. He could not stand not knowing if his loved ones were safe or if they were even alive. But thankfully, he has been given another chance.

James leads the way. He had sent a messenger a day ahead of them as soon as he could to inform his acquaintance of their arrival, and upon receiving the invitation to come, they had packed up and left Rome immediately. There is very little time— Sirius’s fight is scheduled for a month out from now, and he means to get in as much work before then as possible. Secondary plans aside, losing this fight is not a realistic option. Even if James manages to keep Regulus safe, Remus will never be.

As they ride along the tamped rubble roads beneath a high orange sun, Sirius cannot help but think of his sweet boy stuck in that palace, kept on a leash when he should be free to flourish and play his music and dance and laugh and grow a beard if he chooses to. Sirius clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on Minerva’s reins, then gently digs his heels into her ribs to speed her up from a trot to a gallop. 

When the men finally arrive in Capua, James leads them to a little villa far on the outskirts of town and they tie the horses to the fence surrounding the front garden. Just as they are walking up the path to the home, a tall brown-skinned woman draped in colorfully embroidered white linen emerges from the doorway. She raises her hand to greet them, but Sirius speaks before anyone else can say anything.

“Excuse me,” Sirius says to her with a polite bow. “Is your husband home? I am Sirius— I have come from Rome to train with him.”

The woman crosses her arms in front of her chest, shifting her black kohl-lined eyes to look at James with a smirk, then back to Sirius.

“Husband?” she says, laughing. “You are mistaken, my friend. There is no man here.”

“Oh, perhaps we have the wrong villa then?” Sirius turns to James for an answer, but James is only pinching the bridge of his nose, wheezing quietly beside the horses with Regulus. “What is so funny?”

“Sirius, brother, you are training with  _ her.  _ This is Dorcas.” James claps Sirius on the back and pushes past him to greet her with a friendly hug and a kiss to her cheek.

“But—” Sirius starts, perplexion evident as he furrows his brow. “This is a woman.”

“Well spotted,” Dorcas deadpans in a thick accent that Sirius cannot pinpoint. “And this  _ woman _ can have you flat on your back in five seconds if you do not show some respect here.”

Sirius huffs out a little laugh. “I apologize for wasting your time, my lady.” He turns back to James, rolling his eyes. “Come, James. Quite an amusing joke. Now if you do not mind taking me to the  _ real _ trainer—”

Before Sirius even realizes what is happening, he and Dorcas are scuffling in the clay and rocks. Sirius is quick to draw his weapon and pin her down with one arm, but she easily rolls away from him, leaps onto his back, and turns him over on the ground, straddling him with the blade of his own gladius at his throat.

“Do you surrender?” she asks with a quirk of one black eyebrow. “Or shall I cut your head off and feed you to my hogs?”

“You are a warrior,” he says rather than asks, and Dorcas smiles at him. “I am impressed.”

“I am not here to impress you,” she states, leaping to her feet with quick, catlike grace. She reaches down to lend Sirius a hand and he clasps onto it, pulling himself up. “I am here to train you. And you do clearly need it.”

James and Regulus are both standing back at the villa’s front steps as the two snap at one another, laughing as they wipe mirthful tears from their eyes.

“Beg your pardon? I will have you know I served in the Roman Army under the emperors Albus and Voldemort. I am skilled in hand to hand combat and—”

“You are slow,” she says, swinging his blade around with ease to hand him the hilt. “There is no need to brag about your accomplishments here. I,  _ a woman,  _ took you down with little effort. And you want to challenge what I have already concluded? Please, by all means, try to land a blow on me.”

Sirius laughs again. “I do not wish to hurt you, my lady. I will agree to the training, but with a blade? Against an unarmed woman? I think not.”

“Enough with the ‘my lady’. I am  _ not _ your lady. I bow to no man.”

“I did not mean any offense, I simply—”

“No more talking,” Dorcas says, and steps over to the fence. She lifts her foot, places it on the crossbeam, and easily pries off two stakes, then tosses one to Sirius. He catches it and sheaths his blade. “Now. Try to land a blow on me!”

He scowls and lifts the slab of pointed wood as he charges at her. He swings the faux sword, but she ducks; he stabs at her chest, but she spins away; he kneels and swipes at her legs, but she jumps and kicks him flat against his chest, knocking him onto the ground again. Sirius releases a breath of air and is back on his feet quickly. “Use your weapon this time,” he says. She simply laughs, and he charges at her again.

With every strike he makes, Dorcas blocks his blow. She is fast— twisting and ducking and shielding herself, the clacking of the wooden dummy swords echoing in the front garden as man and woman grapple and the dust kicks up around their feet. She charges at Sirius then, and annoyingly, James and Regulus clap and cheer her on. Sirius blocks her blows while marveling over her speed and agility. He has never seen anyone move in a battle the way she does, and when she grabs his arm and pulls it painfully behind him with her weapon to his throat, he knows without a doubt that her training will help him with his fight.

“I concede,” he says, turning carefully and holding out his hand to her. “I apologize for my earlier ignorance, and would be honored to train with you.”

Dorcas stares him down before dropping her weapon and taking his hand. “Very well,” she says. “I accept.” But Sirius lets his guard down too soon— she grabs his bicep, and with no more than a quick tug over her hip, has him on his back in the dirt again with an  _ ‘oof!’ _ which further sends James and Regulus into peals of laughter. “On your feet, soldier,” she teases. “Come inside for a bite and meet my wife.”

“Your— your what now?” Sirius asks as he stands and dusts off his soiled tunic. 

“What? Have you a problem with two women loving one another?”

“No, I—” he starts with a smile, then shakes his head. “I think that is brilliant. I am actually fighting for the hand of another man myself.”

“Is that so?” Dorcas asks, raising her eyebrows. “Well in that case, Marlene and I will both be happy to call you our brother.”

  
  


After meeting the fair-haired and fair-skinned Marlene, everyone washes up and settles in the triclinium for supper. Sirius, James, and Dorcas talk of battles, and Sirius learns that Dorcas fought against the Roman invasion when Emperor Voldemort brought his army across the Mediterranean Sea to Carthage— her home. She then pulls a necklace over her head from inside the front of her tunic and tosses it onto the table.

“What is this?” Sirius asks, picking it up and studying the strange pendant attached to the chain. It is a shriveled pink thing, some sort of weird, unrecognizable stone. Dorcas, Marlene, and James all laugh at his question.

“That,” Dorcas says, taking it from him and holding it up to the candlelight, “is your emperor’s nose.”

“What?!” Sirius and Regulus shout in unison, and Sirius reaches out to hold it again. “You lie!”

“I do not.” She smirks and hands it back to him.

“Dorcas cut off his nose herself,” Marlene states proudly, rubbing a hand over Dorcas‘s bare arm. “His soldiers took her entire family. And she took no mercy.”

“How did you manage to survive that?” Sirius asks.

Dorcas laughs. “My face was masked. He thought me a man. It would never occur to Voldemort that a woman could possibly strike him down. He is still searching for the man who took his nose to this day.”

“This is why I brought you here,” James says, leaning across the table. “She knows what she is doing.”

“I can see that,” Sirius agrees and passes the pendant to Regulus, who is just as amazed by the story as his brother. Sirius, however, might be more amazed by the tenderness between these two women sitting beside one another at the table, and he feels a little less lonely in the world. The way they look at each other, their gentle touches, the laughter between them, this little home they have made together— this is everything that Sirius wants for himself, and everything he longs to share with Remus.

As he drifts to sleep that first night in Dorcas and Marlene’s quiet little country villa, he thinks again of his Remus and whispers a silent prayer to the gods that he is still holding strong. He knows Remus is resilient and brave, but now he must be patient as they all wait for this fight. Hopefully after all is said and done, the two of them can live peacefully, just as Dorcas and Marlene do, with Remus held tightly within the circle of Sirius’s embrace, safe and loved as he deserves.

  
  


Dorcas’s training schedule is rigid and she takes no backtalk or excuses. While James and Regulus loaf around leisurely and get fattened up by Marlene’s fantastic cooking, Sirius is up at dawn when the roosters crow, running laps around the villa and pulling up his own weight on beams in the barn while Minerva and the other horses watch him grunt and sweat. Dorcas has him squatting with buckets of water held out at his sides, she places heavy bags of flour on his back as he pushes himself up from the ground, and the sparring is practically nonstop. 

They work on his reaction time to quicken his speed, his flexibility to move as easily as she does, and his strength to overcome any blow that Fenrir might land. And as the days turn into weeks and the weeks round out the month, Sirius can feel himself becoming stronger and more agile, can see the results of Dorcas’s training in the girth of his thighs and arms and the expanse of his broad chest. His hands and feet may be calloused and his body may be bruised, but Sirius is ready for the next step. 

  
  


The morning before their departure, as James and Regulus are packing up, Sirius pulls both of the women aside quietly.

“If I lose this fight,” he begins, unsure exactly how to phrase the question he wants to ask, “the emperor will be coming for my brother. I cannot have this.”

“You will win,” Dorcas assures him with a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I have seen Fenrir’s fighting. Do as I taught you, and you will succeed.”

“But can I trust Voldemort to stick to the deal we have made?” he asks. “I fear that even if I win, he will take Regulus away from me.”

“You want him to stay here with us,” Marlene says, and Sirius nods.

“The two of you are unbothered here. He would be safe, and if anyone came for him… Well, I have no doubt that Dorcas would strike them down.”

Dorcas looks at her wife, and Marlene gives her a nod. “We do not mind if he stays, as long as he pulls his own weight.”

Sirius releases a breath he had not realized he was holding and pulls them both into an embrace. “Thank you, my sisters.”

  
  


Regulus does not like the idea— in fact, he fights Sirius for the right to come along with him up until the following morning, to be by his side in Rome and cheer him on at the Colosseum, but when Sirius reminds him of the dangers of the emperor and what that means for him, Regulus acquiesces, and with a disappointed nod he embraces his brother and wishes him well in his endeavor.

With happy hugs and cries of good luck from both women, Sirius and James pack their things up on their horses and make their way back home to Rome.

_ I am coming for you Remus,  _ Sirius thinks as he looks up at the moon,  _ and we will finally be together at last. _


	9. IX / REMUS

Rome is buzzing with energy and excitement during the final days leading up to the  _ Dogfight,  _ as it has come to be known. Word spread across the city like wildfire, and rumors regarding Sirius and why he would be fighting the champion gladiator Fenrir have become increasingly fantastic, ranging from a vague retelling of the truth mostly involving Regulus, to amusing assumptions, like the myth in which Sirius stole Voldemort’s false nose, to complete fabrications, such as the story Severus started that Sirius is being punished for an attempt on the emperor’s life— all of which simply make him more of a hero in the eyes of the average citizen. But Remus does not know any of this. 

Inside the palace, things carry on as usual, though Fenrir’s presence is significantly more prominent. It has been a month since Remus has seen Sirius, and the longing ache inside his chest grows more painful each hour that passes of Remus not knowing what is happening. Sirius had demanded time to prepare for the fight, and with a chillingly satisfied sort of smirk, Emperor Voldemort had complied and ordered his restraints to be cut as soon as Sirius was off of palace grounds.

Remus has not seen or heard from him since. Empress Bellatrix had taunted Remus about the entire ordeal, saying Sirius had likely just run off and abandoned him, and would eventually be tracked down and killed. Remus almost wishes that Sirius would run and save himself, but he knows Sirius will not give up on him for anything.

Today, beneath the warm morning sun, Remus is being trotted out of the palace to the emperor’s bronze and ivory two-car chariot dressed in a new, fine tunic and sandals, and a wreath of laurels crowning his head. He is all cleaned up and spit-shined like a cheap medal to be won, and as he clasps the hand of a guard to be lifted into the carriage and settles in beside Voldemort (who promptly places an unwanted hand high on his thigh), Remus sends a prayer to the gods that they will shine down upon Sirius with kindness on this day and guide him to victory. Bellatrix joins them in the chariot and sits on the opposite side of her husband, Voldemort gives the signal and the charioteer cracks his whip, then they are off amid a long caravan of the emperor’s guards and horses to the Colosseum.

When they arrive, the charioteer steers the horses through the emperor’s entrance gate and straight into the arena to the steps of the Imperial Box. The crowd cheers wildly for their emperor, though Remus knows it is mostly to be taken as lip service. He gazes out over the arena, toward the sea of spectators still flooding in through the gates and filling the seats in the cavea. The Colosseum is bursting at its seams this morning— the people are truly invested in this fight, he ponders, watching as they pack themselves into neat little rows.

The three of them exit the chariot and are joined by Severus and Peter, who has been given the privilege of a position within Voldemort’s inner circle due to his loyalty. Together they make their way up the marble staircase to the box, Voldemort takes his seat on his cushioned chair, Bellatrix and Remus take their places seated on either side of him, and Severus and Peter bookend them in. Several guards line themselves up behind the group, ready to strike down anyone who attempts to ascend the stairs without permission.

Remus sits as quietly as he can, hoping to go unnoticed beneath the rustle and rabble of the energetic spectators and waits as patiently as possible for the moment when Sirius steps into the arena and makes his appearance. Remus knows he is here, he can feel him somewhere behind these walls, in some holding room with the other criminals who will fight today, waiting for his cue. Perhaps he is thinking of Remus now. Perhaps he can feel his presence as well. Or, perhaps he is, understandably, too worried about himself at this point to be distracted by thoughts of Remus. 

There are several exhibitions scheduled today before the main event, including animal hunts, chariot races, and other gladiatorial spectacles, and as the sun rises to its highest and begins its descent for the evening, Remus is trembling with unbridled anticipation. He twists the hem of his tunic between his hands, bounces his legs anxiously, and chews on his bottom lip.

“Stop your jittering, boy,” Voldemort scolds him and places what he likely believes is a calming hand to the back of Remus’s neck. “When all of this is over, we will get back to our regular lives, unbothered by Sirius’s meddling. Perhaps you will even make a friend of his brother once he joins us.”

Remus only frowns as he watches a blindfolded man struggle against a lioness down in the arena amid a circle of burning torches. The man swings his small sword but does not land a significant blow to the animal; he only annoys it. When his shield is knocked from his hand by an angry paw, the lioness pounces, sinking her teeth into his neck. The man screams and the ground beneath their writhing bodies goes red, swiftly ending the fight with delighted shouting and cheering from the crowd. It is nearly dark when the lioness is finally corralled into her cage and carted away back behind the walls of the arena. 

When the shrill sounds of horns and the beating of drums cut loudly and clearly over the chattering of the audience, Remus perks up, leaning forward a bit with his eyes fixed upon the gladiators’ entrance to the arena. The time has come at last for the main event, and no matter the result at the end of this evening, this fight will not only define the rest of his life, but Sirius’s and his brother’s as well.

An announcer stands in the middle of the arena, encouraging the audience to cheer for their champion, and as Fenrir is introduced, the people of Rome roar with both jeers and applause. 

Fenrir enters the arena first with his fists held high. He wears thin leather armor and steel shields on his shoulders, forearms, and shins, and his choice of weapon for the evening is not his usual gladius at his side, but a seemingly unwieldy axe strapped to his back. He turns to face one side of the arena then the other, taunting the crowd menacingly with his weapon before bowing respectfully to the emperor, then pivots and waits with a hand on his hip as the crowd’s cheering dies down for the announcer to introduce his challenger.

Remus holds his breath as he leans further forward, his hands gripping the marble railing between himself and the staircase, and then there he is— Sirius, his love, with all of his bare, sun-bronzed skin and flowing black hair. He carries a shield on his left arm and wears nothing but a loincloth, sandals, and a few bits of armor on his arms and legs. Leather straps are stretched tightly across his broad chest holding his weapon on his back, and as his strong thighs carry him forward into the arena, the crowd collectively rises to its feet. 

Reaching up and behind himself, Sirius grabs onto the hilt of his gladius and raises it high above his head like a beacon, tilting his face toward the moonlit sky as if conjuring all the will of the gods through his blade and down into his own body. The crowd seems to be in his favor tonight with the sudden outburst of whistling, shouting, and applause, and Remus finally releases that nervous breath he had been holding in.

Sirius turns toward the Imperial Box and stops abruptly as he looks upon Remus for the first time in a month, then re-sheaths his weapon. Remus wants to stand, to run down to him and throw himself into his arms, but instead he raises his hand in something reminiscent of the little wave Sirius had given him months ago as Remus left the market upon their first meeting. But instead of returning the gesture, Sirius simply places a hand over his heart.

_ Good luck, _ Remus mouths down to him, and he is not certain if Sirius can read his lips from this distance, but Sirius places his own hand over his heart in return. The world around Remus seems to fade away then— the other people, the Colosseum, Rome, any and all expectations— it is only the two of them for a few fleeting seconds. But, after a moment, the emperor breaks the spell by grabbing ahold of Remus’s wrist, snapping him back into reality as Sirius turns back around to face his opponent.

The fight begins now.


	10. X / SIRIUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence, blood, murder (minor character death)

As he steps out into the center of the arena, Sirius is greeted with an uproarious cheer from the crowd of spectators beneath the starry night sky. It is dark but overbearingly humid tonight and he is already sweating from both the heavy heat on his skin and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Nevertheless, Sirius is ready to put this all to bed, to fight for both Remus and Regulus and keep them all safe from the emperor and his lecherous intentions.

Fenrir is waiting with a hand on his hip, armored and ready to go, but Sirius greets the crowd first, and when he raises his gladius to the sky and whispers a silent prayer to the gods to see him to victory, his fellow countrymen eat it up and scream his name. 

He will be victorious tonight— he feels it in his bones.

He turns toward the Imperial Box and while he should be paying his respects to Voldemort with a bow, he instead is looking at Remus, sitting beside the emperor while looking so golden and fair in his pretty white tunic and crown of laurels. Sirius can just barely make out Remus mouthing something he believes is  _ good luck  _ and Sirius places his hand over his heart to signal that this is where he holds Remus, tonight and always, that this is all for him. But Voldemort snatches the boy’s hand back when he covers his own heart in return, and Sirius is forced to turn away just as the announcer is approaching to corral both fighters to the center of the arena.

“For what do you fight tonight?!” the announcer first asks Fenrir, his voice booming loudly over the chattering of the spectators.

“I fight for honor and the glory of the emperor!” Fenrir responds, throwing both clenched fists into the air.

“And for what do  _ you _ fight tonight?!” he asks Sirius, and Sirius does not hesitate with his answer.

“I fight tonight for love and for freedom!” he hollers out into the audience. The announcer gives him a surprised look with his eyebrows raised— no one has given a response quite like that before as far as Sirius knows, but the crowd gives another wailing cheer in return.

But Fenrir only tuts mockingly, shaking his head as he steps closer to Sirius. “It is a shame your boy will have to sit there and watch you die tonight,” he says, “but I know I will take great pleasure both in watching your blood spill and hearing his anguished cries.” He gives Sirius a horribly ugly little smirk and assumes his wide stance with his hands raised and ready to grasp onto the handle of his weapon.

“And I will take great pleasure in killing you, not only because I need to for survival, but because of what you have personally done to him,” Sirius spits out with a snarling curl of his lip.

“I have never lost a fight,” Fenrir snaps back, but Sirius only smirks.

“Nor have I,” he says confidently, lifting his chin to stare up at his taller opponent defiantly.

Fenrir laughs out loud, and as the announcer backs away from them both to reclaim his place on the sidelines of the arena, Sirius plants his feet firmly on the ground with his shield held up and one hand at the ready to take hold of his blade.

“Fight!” the announcer yells out.

Both Fenrir and Sirius immediately unsheathe their weapons and begin circling one another, their eyes hard and resolute, never straying from one another’s faces. 

“Come at me, you filthy beast,” Sirius taunts, gesturing with his blade, and then Fenrir is the first one to make a move. 

He leaps toward Sirius, slashing down with his axe, but he is predictable and slow, and Sirius easily steps out of the way without much effort. Fenrir comes at him again, faster this time, and lands a blow to Sirius’s steel shield, the clashing metal echoing loudly in the arena. The crowd cheers again as the axe bounces off of the shield and Sirius takes a stumbling step backward to keep a reasonable distance between himself and Fenrir.

Sirius moves next, and his blade connects with the armor on Fenrir’s arm, only a slight miss from an exposed bit of his skin, but he is fast and slashes at Fenrir again, and this time he manages to land a blow. It is only a little scratch on Fenrir’s arm, barely anything, but Sirius takes it as the beginning of his victory, and as he leaps back from Fenrir to reassess and plan his next move, he chances a glance up at Remus in the Imperial Box. 

Remus is leaning forward, gripping the railing in front of him, and Sirius knows he must be terrified. But he will not let Remus down— not tonight or ever again.

Fenrir is on Sirius again in an instant, but Sirius is quick enough to raise his leg in defense and kick Fenrir backwards with a foot on his breastplate and using all of his power to push him away. Fenrir falls flat on his back onto the dusty ground, and Sirius pounces with his sword.

But Fenrir rolls away.

They are both on their feet again, and then Fenrir charges, slashing with his axe. Sirius kneels in the dirt and swipes at the man’s legs, and lands another blow, this time deeper and more significant to one of Fenrir’s exposed thighs, and Sirius smiles as his opponent stumbles and his blood begins to drip down his leg. 

They continue struggling against one another, and Sirius does not forget any of Dorcas’s expert-level training. He is now stronger, more nimble, can easily toss Fenrir over his hip and onto his back, can see an attack coming before Fenrir even moves, and leaps away from his advances before he can strike. He blocks several blows with his shield and lands even more on Fenrir in quick succession, and after a long while of this, they are both exhausted, hot beneath their leathers, and feeling the brunt of the battle. But neither of them will give up so easily.

Their weapons clash against one another, and the cheers and jeers from the spectators certainly do their part in keeping Sirius’s spirits and energy up. They are rooting for him, they want him to win. Remus  _ needs _ him to win.

It is during a fleeting moment of weakness when Sirius turns his eyes away from Fenrir for only a split second to check in with Remus and see how he is holding up that Fenrir seizes the opportunity to knock Sirius to the ground with a blunt blow to his chest with the handle of his axe.

All of the air leaves Sirius’s lungs through his mouth as he collapses onto his back. His gladius falls from his grip and skitters away from him, and immediately Fenrir moves to charge at him. Sirius kicks his leg out to block him, but Fenrir stops short and swings his weapon, slicing the back of Sirius’s calf open. The blade cuts through his muscle easily, and he screams out as Fenrir leaps upon his prone position.

“Your boy looks so pretty sitting there, waiting for you to save him,” Fenrir taunts Sirius with a smile, pressing the long handle of his axe against Sirius’s throat. Sirius coughs and pushes up against it with one hand, kicking his legs weakly. He cannot budge Fenrir from this position though— he is much too heavy, but he tries anyway to reach and stretch his fingertips toward his gladius.

Sirius’s mind is beginning to fade out. This is the end. He gave his best effort, but it was simply not enough.  _ I am so sorry Remus,  _ he thinks. He is sorry he let Remus down again, sorry he will never be able to hold him again or kiss his lips or hear him sing or play his lyre. He will never be able to hear his laugh again or make love to him or spend his life with him. There is no happily ever after here. He is going to die.

“Perhaps after I kill you, I will fuck him myself,” Fenrir says with a laugh, and Sirius can feel the bile rise up in his throat at the thought. He can only see red— he wants this man, this bastard beast dead so that he may hurt Remus no longer nor even so much as look upon him again. Sirius clenches his jaw, and with renewed vigor and one last stretch of his right arm, he finally reaches the hilt of his gladius, curls his fingers around it, and swings it upwards to cut into the side of Fenrir’s meaty neck.

Fenrir topples to the side with a terrible howl, his axe forgotten as both of his hands come up to cover the wound. The crowd is going absolutely wild, clapping and stomping in the stands, and as Fenrir writhes in the dirt and dust in agony with blood gushing from beneath his hands, Sirius finally rises back upon his feet. He stumbles over to Fenrir with little weight on his wounded leg as the warm blood continues to drip down it and he sheaths his sword, tosses his shield away, then bends carefully to retrieve Fenrir’s axe. 

Panting, Sirius places the sandaled foot of his injured leg upon his opponent’s chest and, with one hand in the air, he beckons to the crowd to make a decision— should their champion live to see another day, another battle? Or should Fenrir die tonight by Sirius’s hand and never have the opportunity to do any more harm?

The crowd is chanting  _ Kill him! Kill him! _ and Sirius wants to— but he looks up to the emperor for the final judgement. Voldemort’s face is calm and stoic, and he waits several beats before he raises a fist with his thumb turned. The crowd goes whisper quiet as they all wait for the call. Sirius’s eyes flicker over to Remus— he does not look as terrified as before, but his eyes remain large and worried. Sirius cannot wait to finally kiss him and whisk him far away from here. He smiles at the thought.

Emperor Voldemort gives in to the crowd’s demands and puts his thumb high in the air. Sirius holds the handle of the axe firmly in both hands and looks down at Fenrir— the fallen champion’s eyes go wide, he shakes his head as if to plead, and Sirius brings the weapon’s blade down swiftly between Fenrir’s eyes.

  
  


Sirius is in the gladiators’ rooms behind the walls of the colosseum cleaning himself up and having his wounds attended to when a Peter opens the door and stands aside for Voldemort to enter. Sirius rises to his feet while Severus and Remus file in behind the emperor with two pairs of guards taking up the rear. Standing carefully on his leg, Sirius bows to the emperor, smiling at Remus triumphantly when he straightens back up. Remus returns the smile, practically bouncing on his toes in anticipation. Sirius cannot blame him— they have both waited too long for this moment.

“Congratulations on your victory, Sirius,” Voldemort says calmly, folding his hands in front of himself. “I was certain you would lose tonight.”

“Well, you have underestimated me, my lord. I am happy to collect my winnings and be on my way.”

“Ah, but  _ you _ have underestimated  _ me,” _ Voldemort says with a chilling smile as two of the four guards step out from behind him and seize Sirius by each of his arms.

“What is this?” Sirius asks, looking again to Remus. His mouth has fallen open in shock, but he reaches out to hold onto the emperor’s arm.

“Please my lord,” Remus begs as he looks up at the emperor. “Please, we had your word!”

“ _ You _ do not call the orders around here,” Severus snaps, then nods to the guards. “Take him out of here at once. Back to Azkaban.”

“You cannot do this!” Sirius hollers, struggling against the guards. He should have seen this coming, he feels utterly ridiculous for being blindsided— he was certain Voldemort would try  _ something, _ but this? This is low even for him.

“I can and I am,” Voldemort says. “I tire of these foolish games, Sirius. I gave you several opportunities to make a fair deal, but now you have forced my hand. I will have the boy tonight.”

“What?!” Sirius and Remus both question him together. Sirius looks to Peter for something,  _ anything, _ but Peter turns his eyes away guiltily and scampers away. Voldemort then turns on his heel as he takes Remus by the wrist and the other guards join them as they leave the room.

“Remus!” Sirius shouts after them and Remus turns his head, looking at him over his shoulder with those sad doe eyes. “I am so sorry, my love!”

Severus claps at Sirius’s guards and leads them out of the door, through the hallways, and outside to an awaiting trio of horses. Once again, Sirius is bound, lifted onto a horse, and trotted off to Azkaban.

He cannot see a way out of this one.

  
  


Sirius has given up. 

He lies on the thin hay-stuffed mattress behind the bars of his cell in Azkaban Prison, staring up at the cracked stone ceiling. At least Regulus is safe, he concedes, and James will carry out his duty to look after him. Perhaps James will take Lily and they will all stay in Capua, away from this mess and close to Dorcas and Marlene. It will be good for Regulus to have a family around him, nevermind that it is not one of their own blood.

But Remus, on the other hand...

Sirius is so lost in his sadness and thoughts that he does not pay any mind to the shouting and screaming within the halls of the prison until someone is at his cell door jangling keys. He turns his head to look, then immediately leaps up in surprise.

“James?” he asks bewilderedly, stepping to the door as James fiddles with the latch. “What are you—? But how are you—?”

“I had a bit of help,” James responds and pushes the door open. The two friends immediately embrace one another before Peter steps into view.

“You! You traitorous little rat!” Sirius yells, grabbing Peter by the front of his tunic and shoving him roughly against the wall, but James stops him with a comforting hand on his arm.

“I understand you are angry, my brother, and you have every right to be,” he says calmly, “but Peter helped me to find you.”

“Impossible. He is the one who sold me out!”

“I did!” Peter admits, his trembling hands coming up to hold onto Sirius’s wrist. Sirius notices that they are covered in blood and he curls his lip in disgust as Peter continues on. “And I am ashamed to speak of it, but I was a coward. I wanted to be safe if you were caught and thought the emperor would protect me. But after seeing him go back on his promises to you… how am I to believe he would not do the same to me? Forgive me, my lord!”

Sirius sighs and with a deep breath and a roll of his eyes, he pulls his fist back and punches Peter hard in his stomach. Peter doubles over with an undignified  _ oof,  _ but Sirius helps him straighten himself out and pats him kindly on the back.

“Do not ever mistake my kindness for weakness, Peter,” he says. “And do not cross me again. Next time I will not be so forgiving.”

“There will not be a next time sir, I swear it,” Peter gasps out. 

James nudges Sirius and cocks his head toward the door. “Come. We must go. We killed the guards but Severus managed to make a run for it on foot.”

“You killed the guards?” Sirius asks, raising both eyebrows as he finally releases Peter from his grasp and follows James out of the cell.

“Yes, six of them, I think?” he looks to Peter as he asks this and Peter nods in agreement. “Five myself, Peter got one.”

“Not bad, Peter,” Sirius says, mildly impressed that a portly and awkward messenger of all people had actually managed to make a successful kill. Peter beams at him proudly.

The three men hurry through the torch-lit hallways, hopping over the pooling blood and prone bodies of the dead guards as they move toward the exit. Once outside, they all run to the stable and unhitch two horses, Peter hops up to ride behind James, and James leads the way toward Lily’s villa.

The night is not nearly over, however. They all have a rescue mission to plan.


	11. XI / REMUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: attempted rape, violence, murder, blood, gratuitous sex

_ I will have the boy tonight. _

Voldemort’s words repeat over and over in Remus’s head as he lies on his stomach in his room with his eyes red and puffy, cheeks tear-streaked, and his pillow wet, waiting to be called upon.

He should be getting himself cleaned and prettied up for the emperor, but he cannot bring himself to care any longer whether he is punished or not. There is nothing left worth fighting for. He cannot forgive himself for getting involved with Sirius and continuously getting them both into trouble. And for what? 

The only thing he had ever truly wanted in this life was Sirius, and it is all because of Remus that he is locked away forever. He almost wishes they had never met. At least then Sirius would be safe.

He had been so worried for Sirius earlier today, but grew optimistic during the fight. Watching him move so gracefully and beautifully in the arena and land blow after blow upon Fenrir had Remus naively believing things could turn out happily for them after all— but of course, the emperor is a perpetual backstabber, and always keeps several tricks up his sleeve ready to pull out and foil his adversaries at a moment’s notice.

How stupid of anyone to believe his lies— as if Voldemort would ever do a single kind thing for anyone.

Remus rolls over onto his back and frowns. He must do something, make some sort of move, but what? He would run again but his window is not an option anymore since being barred over, there are guards at the front gate, and he does not know how to wield a weapon (not that he even has one to wield) or fight (not that he has much fight left in him anyway).

There is a knock on his door and Remus sits up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. The door creaks open and Rabastan enters, looking rather put out to be the one having to deal with the boy.

“You have not bathed,” he says with an irritated grumble. “The emperor requested you to be clean and redressed before visiting his chamber tonight.”

“I do not care,” Remus responds calmly. “He can take me as I am or leave me be. Which do you honestly think I prefer?”

“You know he will punish you for your continued obstinance, child. Why do you press him so?”

“Emperor Voldemort cannot hurt me any more than he already has,” Remus says, waving a hand. “Let him kill me for all I care. I will greet Pluto in the Underworld with open arms.”

“It is your funeral then.” Rabastan shrugs and gestures for Remus to follow him. “Come now, and bring your lyre. It will not be my head for your dawdling.”

Remus stands with a sigh and picks up his lyre from his dressing table, then with his shoulders slumped in defeat, he follows Rabastan through the palace and to the emperor’s private rooms. Rabastan knocks on the door to Voldemort’s chamber and as it creaks open ominously, Remus takes a deep breath and steps inside. Voldemort greets him with a frown and locks the door behind him quietly, leaving Rabastan just outside the door to stand guard. 

“You have not bathed,” Voldemort states firmly, echoing Rabastan’s earlier statement, clearly annoyed but unsurprised as he assesses Remus in the same dirtied tunic that he had him dressed in this morning. Remus only gives him a flat, uncaring stare and a tired shrug with his lyre tucked beneath his arm. 

Had he a proper nose upon his unsightly face, the emperor might be flaring his nostrils as he looks down at Remus before he raises his hand and slaps the boy roughly across the mouth with the backside of a bejeweled hand that cuts into his bottom lip. Narrowing his eyes at his master, he brings his own hand to his mouth, touching the tender wound with his fingertips. A warm spot of blood comes away and his tongue darts out to lick at the metallic tang of the cut.

“You will do as I say and you will speak when spoken to, boy. I will not tolerate this insolent behavior from you any longer. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, my lord,” Remus says with a tight-lipped smile. 

“Good.” Voldemort gestures to a plush green chair beside his dressing table. “Have a seat and play us something while I get comfortable.”

Remus’s fingers clench angrily around his lyre, but he bites his tongue and nods. He has never been inside this room before, and he is struck by the overwhelming extravagance of it— it is all deep, sparkling jewel toned fabrics, shining rare metals, and smooth white marble— he feels utterly out of place and uncomfortable here, despite being gifted many fine and luxurious things during his tenure at the palace. This is not where he belongs, nor is it the type of lifestyle he wants, especially not for the price he will have to pay for it.

The emperor leads him to the chair and Remus sits then places his instrument on his thigh, plucking at the strings lazily as Voldemort turns and walks a few steps away from him to his bed. He opens his mouth and is just about to sing a snarky ballad in blatant defiance when he realizes the emperor is undressing, and makes a purposeful attempt not to look in his direction. Still, Remus can see what he is doing from the corner of his eye, can see the emperor beginning to unfold the drapings of his toga as he stands beside the bed. Remus keeps his stare fixed downward, upon the strings of his instrument, pretending to be so absorbed in his song that he does not notice when Voldemort’s elegant toga falls to the floor in a puddle of purple cloth, leaving the man in nothing but his white tunic.

“Remus,” Voldemort says and Remus winces at the sound of the name his sweet mother gave him on those terrible lips.

“Yes, my lord?” he responds, feeling his face grow hot, but he does not look up.

“Come here to me. I wish to gaze upon you.”

Remus places his lyre down on his lap as he slowly turns his face to look up at his master with a calm, stoic expression. He takes a deep breath and readies himself for the backlash.

“No.”

“No?” Voldemort scowls and takes him by the wrist, jerking him roughly to his feet as his lyre clatters to the stone floor. “That was not a question, boy, it was a command.”

“Let go of me, you foul thing!” Remus cries out, but Voldemort spins him around and pushes him down over the edge of the elegant dressing table, nudging the boy’s thighs apart with his knee.

“I try to be kind to you, to give you the benefit of the doubt, to give you opportunities to redeem yourself,” Voldemort mutters, pressing his hand to the back of Remus’s neck, “and still you resist and defy me!”

There is an abrupt knock at the door as Voldemort presses against him. _ “My lord?”  _ Rabastan’s voice comes calling from the other side of the door.  _ “Is everything alright?” _

“I can handle it Rabastan, thank you!”

Remus struggles against the larger man’s weight in an attempt to buck him off, but the emperor is strong in spite of his age. There is no use in shouting out for help— no one will come to his aid, and as Voldemort’s hands move to tug down Remus’s undergarments, Remus’s fingers scrabble across the top of the table. A large hand mirror, a lit candle, some loose jewelry, jars of ointments, and a few pretty, decorative things are all that is here. His mind is racing, his heart is pounding wildly inside his chest, but he takes a chance, reaches for the candle on the table, and throws the hot wax over his shoulder.

With a howl of agony, Voldemort stumbles away from him, covering his eyes. He falls back upon the bed, clawing at his own face, and Remus adjusts his clothing as he again glances about the room.

Another knock.  _ “My lord?” _

“You insolent child! You rude, ungrateful boy!” Voldemort yells at him. He starts to stand, but Remus picks up the hand mirror and smashes it down upon the table, then lifts the largest sliver of glass and points it toward the emperor.

“I am not a child!” Remus hollers back to him. “I am a man, and I control my own life from now on!”

Voldemort smirks cruelly. “You will die without me, you know.”

“At least you will die first,” Remus snarls, leaping toward the emperor. Voldemort falls back upon the bed but he reaches up, grabbing onto Remus’s neck with both hands. He squeezes and Remus coughs, but he swings his arm down, plunging the sharp shard of the broken mirror straight into the soft skin at Voldemort’s throat.

The emperor’s mouth falls open and his eyes go wide as he releases Remus and reaches for the glass. He yanks it out of his neck, and with a cough, the hot blood spurts out of the wound, covering the emperor, the bed, and Remus completely.

With trembling hands, Remus clambers away from Voldemort and off of the bed. There is pounding on the chamber door and the handle begins to rattle. 

_ “Emperor Voldemort, sir, we are coming in!” _

Remus looks about the room again and quickly, he picks up his lyre from the floor and pushes open one of the room’s large shuttered windows. He tucks the instrument beneath his arm and places his hands on the window’s ledge, then lifts his body’s weight, his bloodied hands slipping against the wall as he scurries out of the room. He can hear the guards attempting to kick down the emperor’s door, and with one final glance over his shoulder, Remus runs off to the stables.

Tonight, he takes the reins of his own destiny— he will not let himself be the damsel in distress.   
  


With the guards who are normally posted at the front gate most likely assisting with the commotion inside the palace, Remus has no trouble hurriedly galloping away from the scene of his crime atop a stolen horse. 

Remus is certain he is not being followed yet— he had opened each of the stalls and encouraged the horses to flee. If he is, then his assailants are quite a ways behind him after they manage to wrangle the horses. There are no sounds of shouting or hooves behind him, but Remus hurries on nevertheless to the only place he can think of going to at this time of night.

Once he narrows in on the familiar little villa, Remus dismounts the horse and leads her to the stable around back. He takes his lyre from where he has secured it to the horses reins then, quietly, he raps at the front door and waits for an answer. There are at least two mumbling voices inside, seemingly debating whether or not to open the door.

_ “Who is it?”  _

“Lily, please,” Remus begs, whispering through the wood. “I have done something terrible. I— I do not know anyone else.”

“Remus?!” Lily finally pulls the door open and moves as if to embrace him, but stops short when she notices the blood covering his hands, arms, and the front of his tunic. She looks over his shoulder into the night, then quickly grabs his arm and pulls him inside, shutting the door behind him. James and Peter are both inside, looking thoroughly bewildered.

“What happened to you?” James asks. “Are you alright?”

“It is not my blood. I have made a mistake. But it happened so quickly and they took Sirius back to the prison and I— Wait, what is  _ he _ doing here?” Remus asks, nodding toward Peter. “He is the reason Voldemort’s guards found us in the abandoned villa!”

“We got him out, Remus. Sirius is here,” James says. “Whose blood is this?”

“What?” Remus asks incredulously, looking about the room. “He is here? Where? Is he okay?”

“Oh, dear.  _ Sirius!” _ Lily shouts, then takes Remus by the arm and leads him to a chair to sit. “Stay here.”

“You did say Sirius is here?” Remus asks as Lily ducks into another room. James nods. “But how?”

“Peter had a change of heart and helped me rescue him,” James explains as Peter fidgets uncomfortably. “It is a long story. But Remus— What happened? How are you here?”

“Remus? Oh, gods, what has he done to you?”

He snaps his head up to face the source of that deep timbre and immediately stands. He does not even realize he has set his lyre down and begun to go to him until Sirius takes him into his arms, holding him tightly and kissing his cheeks as Remus releases a shuddering sob.

“I— oh, I am so happy to see you are alright!” Remus cries. “I did not know what to think!”

“What is this blood on you? My love, are you hurt?” Sirius asks him. He raises a hand to stroke Remus’s hair back as he stares into his eyes. 

“He tried to bed me,” Remus says quietly, watching Sirius’s face as he presses his lips into a tight, straight line. “To force me. But I fought him off, I— I killed him, I think.”

“Wait, you did what?” Peter asks, looking bewildered.

“I am certain I killed him,” Remus repeats, furrowing his brow as his eyes flicker to each of the people in the room. “I stabbed him in the throat. And then I ran. I stole a horse and came straight here.”

“You brave, beautiful man,” Sirius says with a smile. “You mean to tell me he is truly gone?”

Remus nods. “I believe so.”

Lily then looks to James and Peter. “I think now is our chance to take the palace, is it not?”

“What do you mean ‘take the palace’?” Remus asks curiously.

“There is an underground militia called the Order of the Phoenix. They have been planning and training to take down the emperor at the right time,” Lily explains. “Mostly former soldiers and family members of those he has wronged. I did not know it actually existed until recently, but I met with the leader while James and Sirius were in Capua. A man called Alastor. He has collected and trained over a hundred men and women.” She nods to James. “Now, yes?”

“Yes, but Lily, you should stay here. Peter and I will go to him,” James says, and places a gentle hand over her belly. “I need you both safe.”

Remus’s mouth falls open in shock but it quickly twists up into a delighted smile. Sirius beams brightly at the two of them, but Lily, ever the proud and headstrong woman she is, swats James’s hand off of her with a smirk.

“I can handle myself,” she says confidently, raising her chin to him. “I am going with you, and I am going to the palace to fight.”

James only smiles down at her lovingly. “You are the boss.” He then turns to Peter and Sirius. “Right then, we are off. Peter, you are coming. Sirius, you are in no condition to fight, so you stay here with Remus. It might take the rest of the night and into the morning, but we will return victorious.”

Sirius nods. “Godspeed my brother.”

“Take him to my bath and clean him up,” Lily says. “You may sleep in the room I showed you to earlier, Sirius.”

  
After the trio loads up their packs, gathers their weapons, and hurries off into the night, Sirius leads Remus down a hallway and to the bath. He fills the small stone tub with steaming water, then brings a towel and a clean tunic for Remus to change into. He is turning to leave Remus to his privacy, but Remus stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Would you… can you help me?” Remus asks, tugging awkwardly at his blood-soaked tunic, now crisp and dry against his skin as it pulls painfully at the few hairs on his chest and thighs. “I am afraid this is stuck to me.”

Sirius gives him a tiny smile and nods. “Of course, my darling. Here— sit first.”

He pulls a stool over for Remus to sit on and Sirius kneels on the floor, then brings one of Remus’s feet into his lap. His fingers are deliberate as they caress his leg with soft, gentle strokes, and Sirius leans over a bit to press a kiss to Remus’s knee. Sirius’s hands then move down to untie the laces of his sandal and he takes it off, runs his hands reverently over Remus’s foot, then repeats this with the other leg— brings it into his lap, touches him lovingly, kisses his knee, unlaces his sandal. He rises to stand and pulls Remus to his feet, but instead of helping him out of his tunic, he motions to the bath and leads Remus to step inside fully clothed.

The water is blissfully hot, and Remus sinks down into it with a heavy, relieved sigh. Sirius sits on the edge of the pool and Remus is very aware he is being watched though he does not look up at Sirius. Once the hot water has loosened up the dried blood gluing his clothing to his skin, he finally glances up at Sirius and pulls his tunic off of himself and over his head, then drapes it over the edge of the tub before wriggling out of his undergarments and setting those aside as well.

He picks up a washing cloth and dips it into the water, then leans his head back and squeezes the excess over his chest. “Would you like to join me, or are you just going to stare?” Remus asks playfully. 

“I—” Sirius starts, then pauses to bite his lip as he continues to watch Remus lift one leg out of the basin and run the cloth over his thigh. “I do not wish to frighten you.”

“You think me to be a much more innocent being than I truly am,” Remus states, then turns to kneel in the water and tilts his face up to meet Sirius’s. He brings one hand up, pressing its wetness to the front of Sirius’s tunic, and kisses him lightly, whispering against his lips; “It is like I told Voldemort right before I stabbed him— I am not a child.”

“You most certainly are not,” Sirius whispers back to him with an affectionate smile tugging at his lips. 

“And you of all people should not treat me as such,” Remus says, slipping his arms around Sirius’s neck. “I am a man. I know exactly what I want.”

“And what is that, my love?”

“You,” he says simply, and kisses him again.

Sirius’s hands move down to hold onto Remus’s waist as he opens his mouth and their tongues slide over one another hungrily. Sirius hums quietly against his lips, then breaks the kiss and pulls away before standing and begins to undress himself.

Remus smiles and leans forward on his forearms against the edge of the basin as he watches Sirius move. Sirius removes his sandals and slips out of his tunic, exposing his broad, bare chest and long, muscular legs. Remus’s fingers itch to touch him, to follow his every curve, to dip into each groove of his muscles, to slip down and caress his more private areas, and when Sirius removes his undergarments and stands before him naked and gloriously tanned, well-hung and utterly perfect, Remus’s cock stirs between his legs.

“Oh my,” he breathes, blinking slowly as he observes the way Sirius moves so elegantly in the dim light, the way his grey eyes sparkle with amusement for the way Remus is devouring him with only a look. “Come. Let me touch you.”

Sirius steps into the pool carefully and lowers himself down to sit. Remus moves closer to him and brings one leg over to straddle his thighs, and Sirius’s hands immediately find his waist again, as if they were made to sit there just so. Sirius takes the cloth and carefully washes the dried blood from Remus’s skin. He leans Remus back and gently guides him with his hands to wet his hair, and helps him to rinse the bits of blood away. Remus sits up once more, the tiny rivulets of water cascading down his body, and Sirius’s hands come up to cup his jaw.

The steam rises and curls up around them as their mouths find one another once more. Remus cannot resist smoothing his palms over that chest, those arms, those strong shoulders, and as Sirius presses even closer, licking at his lips and gripping the soft flesh of his backside, their hard cocks brush against one another and Remus gasps, arching his back.

Sirius’s lips move to Remus’s neck, and he takes his time kissing and mumbling sweet words against Remus’s wet skin. “I love you,” he whispers. “So proud of you, my brave, beautiful boy.”

“Need to feel more of you,” Remus whimpers pitifully as his hand slips beneath the water to take Sirius into his palm and he begins to stroke his thick cock slowly. Sirius groans, canting his hips upward, and Remus can hardly hold himself back any longer. “Please,” he begs Sirius. “Please, make love to me.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius asks. “I will only do it if you are absolutely certain. Otherwise, I can wait—”

“Wait until when? And for what? I have wanted this for far too long, and I have learned that life is too fleeting to not take hold of what you truly want. We may be together in this moment, but tomorrow things may change. And what then? I would regret so much. If this is all I can have of you, then I want everything I can get each day that I have you.”

Sirius smiles and kisses him again with a contented hum. “You are right. You are always right.”

Remus reaches for the bottle of oil and gives it to Sirius, then watches as he pours a bit onto his fingers and smooths the slick liquid over them.

“Relax,” he whispers to Remus. “It will not hurt so much if you trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Remus says and leans forward to kiss him again, rising up on his knees slightly as Sirius slides his hand down his back and to his hole. He brushes his fingers over it lightly, sending a sweet little shiver up Remus’s spine, then pushes inside. Remus gasps against Sirius’s lips— it feels strange; different, but good, and he lowers himself down slowly.

_ “Oh,”  _ Remus breathes, his eyelashes fluttering as he rises and pushes down again. 

Sirius releases a quiet little laugh as he strokes Remus’s back lovingly. “You are doing great.”

“Another?” Remus asks, and Sirius pulls him in for another gentle kiss as he eases a second finger into him. Remus moans softly into his mouth, rocking his hips for more. He has never felt this before, has never been so open and vulnerable with anyone, but he is grateful to have waited and to have this chance to share this moment with the only man he has ever loved and to willingly give himself over to him.  _ “Sirius,” _ he whispers, and Sirius seems to know just what he wants, what he needs, and he curls his fingers just so, caressing that sweet spot inside of Remus that makes his cock twitch and his thighs tremble.

“You like it?” Sirius asks him, knowing damn well that Remus likes it but teasing him nevertheless. Remus nods anyway, too far gone to say much more than a single word at a time or pathetic, incoherent babbling. “May I take you to bed?”

“Please,” Remus responds, and carefully, Sirius removes his fingers, then takes Remus into his arms and lifts him out of the pool. He wraps a large towel first around Remus and then another around himself, grabs the oil, then takes Remus’s hand and the two of them hurry into a small bedroom.

The bed is not nearly large enough for two but they both fall upon it anyway, with their hurried lips and eager hands roaming over one another’s bodies. Sirius kisses him everywhere like he is hungry, like he has been starving for this, and perhaps Remus has been as well but, he thinks, he could never be full enough from this feast.

Sirius may be more experienced here, but Remus knows what he wants. He still fantasizes about that night in the abandoned villa when Sirius knelt before him and made him come with his mouth as if he was not an aristocrat and Remus was not a servant— they were simply two men loving one another— and when Sirius begins to go down on him again, Remus turns and repositions himself so that he may do the same. This seems to spur Sirius on, and when Remus takes Sirius’s stiff length into his mouth, Sirius grips his hips and returns the favor with vigor.

Remus is floating, overwhelmed by the softness and revere Sirius handles him with, like he is something too precious to hold. But he is not so fragile he thinks, he can be dirty, and right now he would like nothing more than to be properly defiled, so he pulls off of Sirius and shifts again to lie back on the bed beside him. He parts his legs and raises an eyebrow at his lover, beckoning him to come and take what is his.

Sirius smirks and crawls on top of him, gives him another loving kiss, then reaches for the bottle of oil beside them. He spreads it generously over his cock and fingers, then lines himself at Remus’s entrance. “You are sure?” he asks again, and Remus can only laugh out loud at him for being so caring and sweet.

“I am sure, Sirius,” he says. “Come here.” He wraps his arms around Sirius’s neck and kisses his face, then slowly, gently, Sirius pushes inside.

And it is so good, so much better and sweeter than Remus had fantasized about. He had thought this would be indescribably painful, and it is admittedly strange but it is still nice and comforting. He feels both vulnerable and powerful at the same time, and still wants more, craves more of Sirius. Sirius keeps his eyes fixed on Remus’s, rolls his hips just right, makes Remus gasp and moan and cling to him as Sirius grips his thighs and pulls him closer, pushing inside of him over and over. Finally,  _ finally, _ Remus gets what he has wanted for so long, since the day he met Sirius in the market— to be close to him and loved by him.

He is too unfamiliar with these sensations however, too amateur, and he is much closer to finishing than he would like to be. Sirius pushes his thighs further apart and presses in deeper, grunting, making Remus tremble in ecstasy as his fingers claw into Sirius’s flesh and his toes curl into the soft bedding. Sirius takes Remus’s cock into his hand, pumping him with every thrust of his hips as he kisses his neck and jaw and mouth. Remus wishes this moment could go on forever, just the two of them and the sound of their panting moans, the feel of naked flesh sliding over naked flesh, the smell of their sweat, the taste of Sirius’s lips, the sight of his mouth falling open in satisfied delight as he watches Remus arch his back up and come, and quickly, he pulls out to finish himself off on Remus’s stomach.

“Gods, you are gorgeous like this,” Sirius marvels as he reaches down to dip his thumb into the mess streaking Remus’s torso. He pulls the finger into his mouth with a hum and closes his eyes contentedly. “Ambrosia,” he says, and Remus cannot help but laugh and cover his face in embarrassment.

Sirius laughs as well and shifts to lay beside Remus. He reaches for a towel and cleans him up, then brushes the wet curls from Remus’s eyes before taking him into his arms, and Remus sighs— he would happily live out the rest of his life in this man’s arms.


	12. XII / SIRIUS

_Eighteen months later._   
  


The rooster crows from its perch on the fence just outside of the villa. It is Spring and the sun has just risen, and its bright warm rays shine through the slats of the bedroom window just as it has everyday since Sirius bought this little place in Capua. 

Sirius smiles as the man in his arms shifts closer to him beneath the soft linen blanket of their bed. He leans down a bit to drop a kiss upon the top of his head and Remus hums contentedly while hooking one bare leg around Sirius’s, and they continue to snooze happily well into the afternoon.

“We will be late for your birthday lunch if you insist on sleeping in,” Sirius eventually says to him. 

“Mmm. Just a bit longer.”

“I have utterly spoiled you!” he jokes, and rolls over on top Remus, pinning his arms above his head while Remus laughs and squirms beneath him.

Honestly he does not care much if Remus gets up in five minutes or five days— he can have anything he desires, though he does not ask for much and typically has to be convinced to allow himself even the tiniest of indulgences. Remus is still not used to living this way, without being under the thumb of a heartless master, but he has brought such endless joy and love into Sirius’s life, filling his heart with these intangible gifts he had not known he needed or wanted until they met and finally came together. Now that he has Remus, Sirius cannot fathom ever being without him.

“If you insist on behaving like an animal, I will make you howl like one,” Remus says cheekily, then pulls one arm away from Sirius’s hold to slip down beneath the blanket and swat his bare backside. 

“Ow!” Sirius hollers, narrowing his eyes with a smirk. “Fine then. See how you like this one.” And with that, he rolls off of the bed, taking the blanket with him and leaving Remus to flail about naked in the bed. Sirius laughs and drops it to the floor in a messy pile. “Come on, my love. They will be waiting for us.”

With a grumble of defeat, Remus finally rises and they both begin to prepare for the day, but not without several distracting moments of weakness on Sirius’s part— he simply cannot resist keeping his hands off of his lover for more than a few minutes, and luckily for him, Remus is always more than willing to acquiesce.

Once sexually sated and cleaned and dressed and out of the door, the two men walk the short distance hand in hand down the dusty little road to Dorcas and Marlene’s villa. Remus keeps his lyre tucked securely beneath his arm and Sirius smiles to himself as he gazes down at him fondly. With more time to himself to do as he pleases, Remus has poured himself into his music. Their home is always filled with the sweet sounds of his strings and voice, and their friends adore when he plays for them.

Sirius does not bother knocking when they arrive at the door, he simply enters as they have all taken to entering one another’s homes since becoming neighbors. He and Remus are both greeted with smiling faces and warm hugs all around from their friends— James and Lily are both here with little 8-month-old Harry, and Regulus, who moves between Capua and Rome regularly to apprentice as an apothecary with Lily, is here and grinning cheerfully as well. 

Sirius had assumed his brother would go into law like their late father, but after the uprising in Rome and seeing the inherently corrupt nature of the empire, he had decided to follow in Lily’s footsteps instead and help her with her business while she tended to Harry. He seems to enjoy it immensely, and has a natural talent for medicine. He has even begun growing his own herbs in a tiny, flourishing garden he keeps at Sirius’s villa.

Remus sets his lyre down and reaches out to take baby Harry from Lily and into his arms, and he kisses both of his chubby cheeks affectionately. Harry lets out a squealing giggle just as Marlene comes in from the culina with a sweet-smelling honey sponge cake and Dorcas begins to corral their little found family into the triclinium.

They have their lunch and laugh and joke. Remus plays his lyre for Harry and they all coo over Harry gumming the honey cake. The group reminisces about how far they have all come and the people they knew who lived in the palace before the uprising— most had died during the raid on the palace; the rest, such as Severus and the former empress, Bellatrix, had been thrown into Azkaban and remain there today. 

After everyone’s bellies are full and before the wine has them all tipsy and slurring, Sirius places a rolled scroll on the table in front of Remus.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Sirius says, and Remus shifts his sly hazel eyes over to him.

“I was expecting jewelry at the very least,” he jokes, but as he unrolls the parchment his eyes go wide and his mouth falls open.

He had known it was coming eventually, they had spoken of it, and truthfully Sirius had secretly taken care of the documents several months prior. But, he had wanted to save the surprise for this very moment, and seeing the shock and delight on Remus’s face means all of their hard work was worth something very special— something larger than even Rome itself.

“Well? What is it?” Regulus asks and Remus can only pass the scroll to him and fall into Sirius’s arms with a quiet sob.

Regulus unrolls the parchment and begins to read outloud: “ _‘It is with great pleasure that I declare the former servant by the name of Remus to be a Freedman. Signed by the Roman Emperor Alastor IV, co-signed by the Imperial Councilor Peter I.’_ Oh, congratulations, Remus!”

Their little family cheers with celebratory praise and comforting pats on the back, and Sirius reaches up to thumb a stray tear away from Remus’s eye.

“Are you happy, darling?” Sirius asks him, nudging him gently so that Remus tilts his face up to him.

“Impossibly happy,” Remus responds. “Thank you for this. For everything you have given me. I never imagined I could be free to live my life, or to love whom I choose.”

“I would have it no other way,” Sirius says with a half shrug. “You deserve this and so much more.”

Remus smiles and leans forward, leaving a sweet little kiss upon Sirius’s lips. 

Whatever the future may hold for them, Sirius knows they can overcome any obstacle. They have already gone through the worst and conquered Rome together once for love, and he would willingly do it all over again for Remus. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas who fixed my run on sentences and my Roman inaccuracies. Thank you to my cheerleaders who screamed at my cliffhangers and kept me motivated through writing this thicc boi. Couldn’t have done it without you! 😘
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://remus-john-lupin.tumblr.com/)!


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